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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 




'' 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
















The Secret Service Series. Issued monthly. By subscription. $3 per year. No. 50. December, 1891. 
Entered at New York Post-Office as second-class matter. 



Tbe CliqGe of (Hold. 

BY 

EMILE GABORIAU. 


STREET & SMITH, Publishers. 


NEW YORK. 


J fye S<?a apd Sfyore Seri^. 

Best Novels by Popular Authors. 


The Tragedy iai the Hue <le la Paix. By Adolphe Belot. . No. 37 

The Woman of Fire. By Adolphe Belot No. 3G 

Toilers of the Sea. By Victor Hugo No. 3f> 

Romance of a Poor Young’ Man. By Octave Feuillet. . . . No. 34 

Mail of Iceland. By Victor Hugo No. 33 

She Trusted Him. By a popular author No. ,32 

Carmen. By Prosper Merimee No. 31 

John Needham’s Double. By Joseph Hatton No. 30 

Sappho. By Alphonse Daudet. . No. 20 

Around the World in Eighty Days. By Jules Verne. No. 28 

Camille. By Alexandre Dumas, tils... No. 27 

Red Dick, the Tiger of California. By Ned Buntline No. 20 

Dashing Charlie. By Ned Buntline No. 25 

Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet. ...' No. 24 

The Two Orphans. By Adolphe D’Ennery No. 23 

The Struggle for Maverick. By J. F. Fitts No. 22 

The Corsican Brothers. Bv Alexandre Dumas No. 21 

The House of silence. By Dr. J. H. Robinson No. 20 

The Irish Monte Cristo’s Trail. By Alex. Robertson, M^D. No. 19 

The Yankee Champion. By Sylvanps Cobb, Jr No. 18 

Fedora. From the famous play, by Victorien Sardou No. 17 

Siballa, the Sorceress. By Prof. Wm. Henry. Peck : . . No. 1G 

The Holden Eagle. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr No. 15 

Tlie Fortune-Teller of New Orleans. By Prof. W. H. Peck. No. 14 
The Irish .Monte Cristo Abroad. By Alex. Robertson, M.D. No. 13 

Held for Ransom. By Lieut. Murray No. 12 

'file Irish Monte Cristo’s Search. By Alex. Robertson, M.D. No. 11 
La Tosca. From the 'celebrated play, by Victorien Sardou . . No.* 10 

The Man in Blue. .By Mary A. Denison No. 9 

Ben Hauied. Bv Sylvanus Cobb, Jr . No. 8 

Ray Bias. By Victor Hugo No. 7 

The .Masked Lady. By Lieutenant Murray No. G 

Theodora. From the Celebrated play, by Victorien Sardou. . No. 5 

The Locksmith of Lyons. By Prof. Wm. H. Peck No. 4 

The Brown Princess. By Mrs. M. V. Victor No. 3 

The Silver Ship. Bv Lewis Leon No. 2 

An Irish Monte Cristo. No. 1 

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by the publishers, STREET A SMITH, 

P. (). Box 2734. 25, 27, 29 and 31 Rose Street, New Yorko 


THE CLIQUE OF GOLD. 



By EMILE GABORIAB. 




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For Sale Everywhere 


The Clique of Gold 



EMILE G-ABORIATJ, 

v S 7 


AUTHOR OF 

“THE SLAVES OF PARIS,” and “MONSIEUR LECOQ.” 



NEW YORK: 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

31 Rose Street. 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1891, 

By Street & Smith, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. 0. 


THE CLIQUE OF GOLD. 


CHAPTER I. 

“ TO DIE SO YOUNG 1” 

Few houses in Paris are better kept, or of more inviting 
aspect, than No. 23 Rue de la Grange, where everything 
wears an air of Dutch-like neatness and cleanliness. The 
neighbors might use the brass plate on the door as a shav- 
ing-glass, the pavement of the hall is polished till it shines, 
and the wood- work of the staircase is varnished to perfec- 
tion. In the vestibule numerous notices, couched in the 
peculiar style which Parisian landlords habitually affect, 
request the tenants to respect other people’s property, 
quite regardless of the high rents they have to pay. Wipe 
your boots, if you please,” says one of the placards to all 
who enter the house. “No spitting permitted on the 
stairs,” declares another — obviously intended for more 
particularly ill-mannered tenants and visitors — while a 
third, in the same curt style, authoritatively enunciates 
that no dogs are allowed on the premises. 

And yet, although it has always been spick and span, 
“No. 23” enjoyed, at the time we write of, but a sorry 
reputation in the neighborhood. Was it worse than other 
houses — than No. 21, for instance, or No. 25? Probably 
not, but there is a fate for houses as well as for men and 
books. The first story was rented by two independent 
gentlemen and their families, whose minds were as sim- 
ple as their lives. On the second floor were the offices and 
abode of a tax-receiver, who dabbled at times, it was re- 


6 


“TO DIE SO YOUNG !” 


ported, in usury on his own private account. The third 
story was let to a wealthy man, a baron, so people said, 
who only turned up at long intervals, preferring, according 
to his own statement, to live on his estates in the province 
of Saintonge. The whole of the fourth floor was occupied 
by an individual familiarly known as Papa Kavinet, who 
dealt in all sorts of second-hand merchandise — furniture, 
garments, bric-a-brac, and so on — his rooms being replete 
with a medley collection of things which Tie was wont to 
purchase at sales by auction. The fifth and topmost 
story of the house was divided into numerous small 
rooms and closets, mainly rented by artisans and clerks, 
who almost without exception left for their avocations 
early in the morning and returned home late at night. A 
second block in the rear of the building facing the street 
had a staircase of its own, and was occupied by still hum- 
bler tenants, whose presence in this central part of Paris 
was explained by the difficulty of letting small lodgings. 

However this may have been, the house had a bad repu- 
tation, and its inmates had to bear the consequences. Not 
one of them would have been trusted with a crown’s worth 
of goods in any of the neighboring shops. No one, how- 
ever, stood, rightly or wrongly, in such bad repute as the 
doorkeeper or concierge, who from a little window just 
inside the porte-cochere watched over ’ the safety of the 
whole house. Master Chevassat and his wife were se- 
verely cut by all their colleagues in the street, and the 
most scandalous reports were circulated concerning them. 
Chevassat was said to be well off, having acquired his 
means by lending money at the remunerative rate of a 
hundred per cent, per month. He increased his income, 
moreover, by acting, so it was stated, as the agent of the 
tax-receiver and the dealer in second-hand goods, super- 
intending the executions they ordered whenever poor 
debtors were unable to pay. Against Madame Chevassat 
there were yet even more grievous charges, for folks pre- 
tended she would do anything for money, and had launched 
many a poor girl into a profligate career. This worthy 
couple had previously lived in the fashionable Faubourg 
St. Honore, which it was said they had been compelled to 
leave on account of various ugly occurrences. Finally, 
they were rep'ortod to have a son named Justin, a hand- 
some fellow of five-and-thirty, who Jived in the best soci- 
ety, and whom they literally worshiped. He, however, 
was ashamed of his parents, though he would frequently 
co- no at night-time and ask them for money. It must be 


“TO DIE SO YOUNG !’ 


7 


confessed that none of the gossips of the street had ev6r 
seen this son, and the origin of the report was altogether 
lost in mystery. As for the Chevassats, when any of this 
tittle-tattle reached their ears they simply shrugged their 
shoulders, and remarked that they cared little for public 
opinion as long as their own consciences were clear. 

One Saturday evening toward the close of last December 
the doorkeeper and his wife were just sitting down to din- 
ner, when an individual, wearing a flowered-silk waist- 
coat and a long frock coat with an immense collar, rushed 
precipitately into their room. He was a man of fifty or 
thereabouts, of medium height, with a clean shaven face, 
and small bright yellow eyes, which shone with restless 
eagerness from under thick bushy brows. 

“ Quick, Chevassat !” he cried, in a tone of alarm. “Take 
your lamp and follow me — an accident has happened up 
stairs.” 

The Chevassats were quite frightend by the new comer's 
disturbed expression of countenance, and the woman 
nervously inquired : 

“Dear me, what is the matter, M. Ravinet?” 

“The matter! the matter,” rejoined the dealer in sec- 
ond-hand merchandise, for the messenger of ill-omen was 
none other than the tenant of the fourth floor. “ Why, 
while I was on the landing just now I fancied I heard a 
death-rattle on the floor above. I listened for a moment, 
and hearing nothing further, I was going into my rooms 
again, when I heard a confused sound of sobbing and sigh- 
ing — as if some one was in agony, in fact, at the point of 
death.” 

“ And then ?” ejaculated Master Chevassat. 

“Why, then I determined to come and find you,” replied 
the dealer. “ I cannot be positively sure, but still I could 
almost swear that the moans camd from the room of Mile. 
Henriette, that pretty young girl who lives just above me. 
“ Come, let us go and see if there is anything amiss with 
her.” 

But the Chevassats did not stir from their seats. 

“Mademoiselle Henriette is not at home,” said the wife, 
in a frigid tone. “ She went out a little while ago, and 
told me she would not come back till nine o’clock ; you 
must have been mistaken, M. Ravinet. Perhaps you had 
a ringing in your ears, or ” 

“ No, no ; I certainly heard the moaning, and we must 
find out where it came from.” 

During this conversation the door of the concierge’s 


8 


“TO DIE SO YOUNG !” 


room had remained open, and several people of the house 
overhearing Papa Ravinet’ s story, and the exclamations 
of the Chevassats while crossing the hall, had paused, and 
listened with natural inquisitiveness. 

“Yes,” they repeated in chorus, “we must find out what 
is the matter. ” 

Chevassat did not dare to resist such a collective sum- 
mons, and rising from his seat with a sigh, he muttered : 

“Well, let us go, then.” 

The whole party, composed of Chevassat and his wife, 
Papa Ravinet, and the lookers-on, thereupon ascended the 
staircase. As they tramped from flight to flight the occu- 
pants of the various floors opened their doors to ascertain 
what was going on, and on learning that something was 
likely to happen, they almost all left their rooms and 
joined the procession, so that when the doorkeeper paused 
on the landing of the fifth floor to draw breath he had well- 
nigh a dozen persons behind him. Mile. Henriette’s room 
was the first on the left. Chevassat began by rapping 
gently at the door, but finding that mildness had no effect 
he knocked louder and louder, until at last his heavy fist 
shook all the flimsy partition walls around. Between each 
blow he cried : 

“ Mademoiselle Henriette ! Mademoiselle Henriette, you 
are wanted !” 

But as all his hammering and shouting failed to elicit 
any response he at last turned round with a triumphant 
air, and exclaimed : 

“ Well, you see my wife was right ; she’s not at home.” 

While Chevassat was knocking, however, M. Ravinet 
had been on his knees, in turn applying eye and ear to the 
keyhole, and at this moment he sprang to his feet, with a 
pale face. 

“ ’Tis all over !” he cried. “We are too late !” Then, 
as the bystanders looked at him, bewildered, he added, 
furiously, “Have you no noses? can’t you smell that 
-abominable charcoal ?” 

The lookers-on forthwith began to sniff, and soon agreed 
that the dealer was in the right. Moreover, Chevassat’s 
repeated blows had had considerable effect on the fasten- 
ings of the door, and a sickening vapor now filtered 
through the apertures around the frame-work. Every one 
shuddered, and a woman tremulously exclaimed : 

“ She has destroyed herself !” 

As it happens only too frequently in such cases, all the 


“TO DIE SO YOUNG !” 


9 


bystanders hesitated, and a pause ensued before Chevassat 
ventured to remark : 

“Ah, well, I must go for the police.” 

“ That’s right !” retorted the dealer in second-hand mer- 
chandise. “ At this moment there is perhaps still a chance 
of saving the poor girl’s life, but when you come back it 
will, of course, be too late.” 

“What’s to be done, then?” 

“Why, break in the door.” 

“I don’t dare.” 

“Well, then, I will,” and suiting the action to the word 
Papa Ravinet put his shoulder to the worm-eaten door, 
the lock of which almost instantly gave way. A mass of 
vapor rolled out into the passage, and the frightened look- 
ers-on instinctively shrank back. But curiosity speedily 
mastered fear. Every one was now convinced that the 
poor girl was lying dead inside the room, and one and all 
strove to distinguish her form through the dense fumes. 
But their efforcs were fruitless. The feeble light of the 
lamp carried by Chevassat had gone out in the foul air, 
and the darkness would have been utterly impenetrable, 
save for the ruddy glow of the charcoal burning away in 
two little hand-stoves, amid tiny heaps of white ashes. 
Papa Ravinet had, however, gone too far already to re- 
main waiting in the passage. 

“ Where is the window?” he asked, turning to the house- 
porter. 

“On the right-hand side.” 

“Very well, I’ll open it,” and he boldly plunged into 
the dark room. 

A moment afterward a crash of breaking glass was 
heard, and a current cf air being established, the smoke 
was speedily carried away into space. As soon as it was 
possible to breathe inside the room every one rushed in. 
It was certainly a death-rattle that Papa Ravinet had 
heard. Stretched at full length on a thin mattress, desti- 
tute alike of sheet, blanket, and counterpane, lay a young 
girl, barely twenty years of age, clad in a flimsy dress of 
black merino. Her limbs were already stiff, and she was 
apparently lifeless. 

“To die so young, and in such a manner !” exclaimed the 
women of the party, sobbing aloud. 

But the dealer in second-hand goods did not waste his 
time in sentimental lamentation. Approaching the bed, 
he carefully scrutinized the girl. 

“ She is not dead yet,” he cried ; '“ no, she cannot be dead. 


10 


‘TO DIE SO YOUNG!” 


Come, ladies, try and prolong her life till the doctor comes. 
Give her air — plenty of air — try to get some breath into 
her lungs. Cut her dress open, pour some vinegar on her 
face, rub her limbs with some warm woolen stuff.” 

The women cheerfully obeyed these orders, though none 
of them entertained any hope of success. “Poor child,” 
said one of them, l# “ no doubt she was crossed in love.” 
“Or else she was starving,” significantly whispered an- 
other. It was, indeed, plain enough that this humble 
room was the abode of extreme poverty. The only arti- 
cles of furniture were the bed, a chest of drawers, and two 
chairs. There were no curtains to the window, no clothes 
in the bag standing in a corner, not a ribbon in the draw- 
ers. Everything that could be disposed of had plainly 
been pawned or sold, bit by bit, little by little. The bed 
clothes had followed the wearing apparel, and even half 
the wool had been removed from the mattress. Too proud 
to complain, friendless owing to timidity perhaps, the 
poor girl had gone through all the stages of suffering 
which utter poverty entails. 

Papa Ravinet was thinking of all this when he espied a 
paper lying on the chest of drawers. Taking it up he 
read the following lines : 

“Let no one be accused — I die voluntarily. I beg Madame Chevas- 
set to deliver the two letters I leave lying beside this paper. She will 
be paid whatever I may owe her. Henkiette." 

Hard by the dealer perceived the mentioned missives, 
the addresses of which he eagerly scanned. The first was 
directed to the “Count de Ville-Handry, 115 Rue de Varen- 
nes,” and the second to “M. Maxime de Brevan, 62 Rue 
Lafitte.” As he perused the latter superscription a strange 
gleam came into Papa Ravinet’s yellow eyes, a wicked 
smile played round his lips, and he uttered a very peculiar 
“Ah!” A moment later, however, his brow became as 
dark as before, and he glanced around him with mingled 
anxiety and suspicion to see if any one had noticed his 
momentary change of expression. No, he had escaped 
observation, and the letters also had remained unperceived 
— for all the inmates of the room were busy trying to recall 
Mile. Henriette to consciousness. Papa Ravinet thereupon 
slipped the paper and the two letters into the pocket of 
his frock coat with a dexterity and speed that might have 
excited a professional pilferer’s jealousy. 

He then turned toward the women who were bend.ng 
over the bed. They were greatly excited, for one of them 


“TO DIE SO YOUNG !” 


11 


declared that she had felt the body tremble, a statement 
which the others generally refused to credit. The point 
was soon to be decided. After perhaps twenty seconds of 
suspense, during which all held their breath, an exclama- 
tion burst forth. 

“ She is alive ! She has moved !” 

Indeed, doubt was no longer possible. The poor girl 
had stirred, very faintly perhaps, but still in a sufficiently 
perceptible manner for every one to notice it. Moreover, 
a slight color had returned to her pallid cheeks, her bosom 
began to heave, her clenched teeth parted, and she stretched 
forth her neck'as if to imbibe the fresh air. The women 
standing around were as appalled as if they had witnessed 
a miracle. One of them, a lady living on the first floor, 
who supported the poor child’s head as she gazed about 
her with a blank, unmeaning glance, spoke to her, but 
she did not answer. Plainly she could not hear. 

“ Never mind,” said Papa Ravinet, “she is saved, and 
when the doctor arrives there will be little remaining for 
him to do. Still, she must be attended to, poor girl, for 
we cannot leave her here alone.” 

The bystanders fully understood the drift of the dealer’s 
words, and yet only one or two of them proffered a timid 
assent. Uninfluenced, however, by their evident reluct- 
ance, he calmly continued : 

“ She must be put to bed properly, with another mat- 
tress, a couple of blankets, and a counterpane. We want 
fire as well, for it’s terribly cold here, and tea and sugar, 
and a candle. ” 

Although he did not mention everything that might be 
needed, his improvised list, such as it was, pro\ ed already 
a great deal too long for most of the people standing round. 
The tax-receiver’s wife grandly laid a five-franc piece on 
the mantel-shelf, and then slipped outside, several of the 
others following her example in the latter if not in the for- 
mer respect. Papa Ravinet, indeed, found himself aban- 
doned by every one, excepting the Chevassats and the two 
ladies living on the first floor. The worthy fellow smiled 
significantly, and after a momentary pause exclaimed : 

“ Fortunately I deal in all sorts of goods. Please wait 
here a moment while I just run down stairs t^ fetch the 
needful. After that we’ll see what remains to be done.” 

Mother Chevassat was quite amazed. 

“ Am I going mad ?” she said to herself, “ or has some 
one changed Papa Ravinet ?” 

The fact is, that the dealer in second-hand merchandise 


12 


“TO DIE SO YOUNG!” 


did not precisely enjoy a reputation for generosity and be- 
nevolence. However, he soon reappeared, quaking under 
the weight of two heavy mattresses ; and on returning a 
second time he brought not merely all the remaining ar- 
ticles he had mentioned, but several others besides. Mile. 
Henriette was now breathing more freely, though her 
limbs and features were still rigid. She was evidently 
unconscious of her situation ; and the ladies of the first 
floor, although very willing to help her, were extremely 
puzzled as to what they ought to do. 

“ The only thing is to put her to bed,” said. Papa Eavinet. 

“ When the doctor comes he will very likely bleed her.” 
And turning to Chevassat he added, “W T e are in the way 
of these ladies, so suppose we go down to my rooms and 
drink a glass together. We can come back when the child 
has been comfortably put to bed.” 

The good-natured dealer lived in the midst of his thou- 
sand and one purchases. He slept just where he could, 
or rather wherever a sale cleared space for his accommo- 
dation — reposing one night in a costly carved bed of Louis 
Quatorze style, and the next on a common lounge merely 
worth a few francs. For the time being he occupied a lit- 
tle closet not more than three-quarters full, and it was to 
this incumbered apartment that he now conducted Master 
Chevassat. 

After pouring some brandy into two small "wine-glasses, 
and putting a kettle on the fire, he sank into an arm-chair, 
exclaiming : 

“ Well, what a terrible thing this is !” 

The doorkeeper had been well drilled by his wife, and 
answered neither yes nor no, but Papa Eavinet was a 
man of experience, and knew well enough how to loosen 
his visitor’s tongue. 

“The most disagreeable thing about it,” said he, with 
an absent air, “ is that the doctor will report the matter 
to the police, and there will be a legal investigation.” 

Master Chevassat nearly dropped his glass. 

“What? The police in the house? Well, good-by, then, 
to our tenants ; we are lost. Why did that stupid girl try 
to kill herself, I wonder ! But perhaps you are mistaken, 
M. Eavinet?” 

“ No, I am not. But you jump to erroneous conclusions. 
All the police will ask you is — who that girl is, how she 
supports herself, and where she lived before she came 
here.” 

“That’s exactly what 1 can’t tell.” 


“TO DIE SO YOUNG !’ 


13 


The dealer in old clothes seemed amazed, and frowned 
ominously as he asked : 

“ Then how did it happen that Mile. Henriette came to 
live here ?” 

The doorkeeper was evidently ill at ease, and it was 
with affected assurance that he replied : 

“Oh, it’s as clear as sunlight, and if you like I’ll tell you 
the story ; you will see there has been no harm done.” 

“Let us hear, then.” 

“Well, one day, about a year ago, a well-dressed young 
fellow, with an eye-glass stuck in his eye — a thoroughly 
fashionable young man — came into my room and said he 
had seen a notice outside, stating that there was a room 
to let in the house. He wanted to see it, and although I 
told him it was a wretched garret, unfit for a gentleman 
like himself, he insisted, and so I took him up stairs. I 
thought he would be disgusted, but no. He looked out of 
the window, tried the door, examined the partition-wall, 
and eventually said, ‘The room suits me, and I’ll take 
it. ’ Thereupon he hands me a twenty-franc piece to close 
the bargain. I was amazed.” 

If M. Ravinet felt any interest in this story, at all events 
he took pains not to show it, for his eyes wandered to and 
fro as if his thoughts were elsewhere — indeed, as if he 
were heartily bored with Chevassat’s tedious account. 

“ And who was that fashionable young man ?” he asked. 

“Ah ! that’s more than I know, except that his name is 
Maxime.” 

At the mention of this name the old dealer almost 
sprang from his seat. He changed color, and a strange 
gleam came once more into his small yellowish eyes. 
However, he recovered himself so promptly that his vis- 
itor did not notice his temporary excitement ; and it was 
in a tone of the utmost indifference that he remarked, “ So 
the young fellow did not give you his family name ?” 

“ No.” 

“ But ought you not to have inquired ?” 

“Ah, there’s the trouble. I did not do so,” answered 
Chevassat, who was now gradually surmounting his origi- 
nal embarrassment, and preparing himself in anticipation 
of the police inquiry. “I know it was wrong,” he contin- 
ued, “but I don’t think you would have acted differently 
in my place, sir. Just think ! My room belonged to M. 
Maxime, for I had his money in my pocket. I asked him 
most politely where he lived, and if any furniture would 
come, whereupon he laughed in my face, and without 


14 


“TO DIE SO YOUNG !” 


even letting me finish my question, exclaimed, ‘Do I look 
like a man who lives in a place like this ? And when he 
saw I was puzzled he proceeded to tell me that he intended 
to rent the room for a young person from the country, in 
whom he took an interest, observing that the receipts for 
rent must all be made out in the name of Mile. Henriette. 
That was clear enough, wasn’t it? Still, it was my duty 
to know who Mile. Henriette was, so I asked him civilly 
enough. But he became angry, and told me that was 
none of my business, adding that some furniture would 
presently be sent.” The doorkeeper paused, waiting for 
Papa Ravinet to express his approval either by word or 
gesture, but as the dealer remained mute and motionless 
he continued, “In short, I did not dare to insist, and 
everything was done as he desired. The same day a dealer 
in second-hand furniture brought the goods you have seen 
up stairs, and on the morrow, just before noon, Mile. Hen- 
riette arrived. She had not much luggage with her — in 
fact, merely a hand-bag.” 

The old dealer was stooping over the fire, apparently 
giving all his attention to the kettle, in which the water 
was beginning to boil. 

“It seems to me, my friend,” said he, “that you did not 
act very wisely. Still, if that is really everything I don’t 
think you are likely to be troubled.” 

“What else could there be ?” asked Chevassat. 

“ How do I know ? But if that young damsel had been 
carried off by M. Maxime, if you lent a hand in an elope- 
ment, you might find yourself in a nasty pickle, ihe law 
is very strict when minors are concerned.” 

“Oh, I have told you the whole truth,” protested the 
doorkeeper, with a solemn air. 

On this point, however, Papa Ravinet had his doubts. 

“ That is your lookout,” he said, shrugging his shoul- 
ders. “ Still you may be sure you will be asked how it 
happens that one of your tenants became reduced to such 
a state of abject poverty without your giving notice to 
anybody.” 

“Why, surely I don’t wait on the tenants. They are 
free to do what they like in their rooms.” 

“Quite right, Master Chevassat, quite right. So you 
did not know that M. Maxime no longer came to see Mile. 
Henriette ?” 

“ But he still came to see her.” 

At these words Papa Ravinet raised his arms to heaven, 
as if horror-struck, and exclaimed : 


‘‘TO DIE SO YOUNG !” 


15 


“What is it possible? That handsome young fellow 
1 few how the poor girl suffered ? He knew that she was 
dying of hunger?” 

Master Chevassat grew more and more disturbed. He 
began to perceive the drift of the dealer’s questions, and 
realized how unsatisfactory his answers were. 

“Ah ! you ask too many questions,” he said at last. “ It 
was not my duty to watch M. Maxime. As for Mile. Hen- 
riette, as soon as she is able to move — the little serpent ! — 
I’ll send her off about her business.” 

But Papa Ravinet shook his head, and softly rejoined, 
“No, no, Chevassat, you won’t do that, for from to-day I 
mean to pay her rent. And, more than that, if you wish 
to oblige me, you will be very kind to her — you hear ? — 
and even respectful, if you please. ” 

There was no misunderstanding the meaning of the 
word “oblige,” pronounced as the old dealer pronounced 
it, and yet he was about to enforce the recommendation, 
when a fretting voice was heard calling on the stairs : 

“ Chevassat ! where are you, Chevassat ?” 

“My wife wants me,” exclaimed the doorkeeper, and, 
delighted to get away, he added, “ I understand, M. Ravi- 
net ; she shall be treated as politely as if she were the 
landlord’s daughter. But excuse me, I have to attend to 
my duties, and as my wife call£ me I must go down 
stairs. ” 

Without waiting for an answer he then slipped out, 
quite unable to guess why the old dealer should take such 
a sudden interest in the tenant on the fifth floor. 

“ The rascal !” muttered Papa Ravinet, as soon as he 
was alone, “ the rascal !” 

But he had not yet found out everything he wanted to 
know, and he knew he had no time to lose. 

Removing the kettle from the fire, and drawing Mile. 
Henriette’s two letters from his pocket, he held the one 
addressed to M. Maxime de Brevan over the steam of the 
boiling water. In a moment the gum securing the enve-. 
lope softened, and the letter could easily be opened with- 
out leaving any trace of the act. The missive ran as 
follows : 

“You are victorious, M. de Brevan. When you read this I shall 
have ceased to live. You may raise your head again: you are relieved 
of all fears. Daniel can come back. I shall carry the secret of your 
infamy and cowardice to the grave. And yet, no! I can forgive you, 
having but a few minutes longer to live; but God will not pardon you. 
I feel that I shall be avenged. And, if a miracle be needed, that mira- 


16 


“TO DIE SO YOUNG !” 


cle will be accomplished, so that the man who thought you were his 
friend may learn how and why died the poor girl whom he had en- 
trusted to your honor. H.” 

On reading these lines Papa Ravinet became furious. 

“What?” growled he, in a tone of bitter hatred, “Max- 
ime de Brevan’s honor. A pretty security, indeed.” 

However, his excitement did not deter him from manip- 
ulating the other letter, addressed to the Count de Ville- 
Handry, in precisely the same manner. The operation 
w r as equally successful, and, without the slightest hesita- 
tion, the dealer read : 

“Deab Father, — Broken down with anxiety, and faint from exhaus- 
tion, I have waited till this morning for an answer to the humble letter 
which I wrote you on my knees. You have never replied to it: you 
are inexorable. I see I must die. Alas! I can hardly say I die will- 
ingly. I must appear very guilty in your eyes, father, for you to aban- 
don me in this manner to the hatred of Sarah Brandon and her people. 
And yet, I have suffered terribly. I struggled hard before I could 
make up my mind to leave home— the home where my mother died, 
where I had been so happy, and so tenderly beloved as a child by both 
of you. Ah, if you but knew! And yet it was so little I asked of you! 
— barely enough to bury my undeserved disgrace in a convent. Yes, 
undeserved, father; for at the moment of appearing before God — at an 
hour when no one dares to pervert the truth — I declare that, despite 
all slanderous reports, I have ever preserved the honor of our name.” 

Tears rolled down Papa Ravinet’s cheeks as he read this 
heart-rending missive, and it was in a half-stifled voice 
that he murmured : 

“ Poor, poor child ! And to think that for a whole year 
I have lived under the same roof with her without know- 
ing it. But fortunately I am still in time. Oh, what a 
friend chance can be when it chooses.” 

None of the inmates of the house would have recognized 
Papa Ravinet at this moment, for he was literally trans- 
figured. He was no longer the cunning dealer in second- 
hand articles, the old scamp with the sharp, vulgar face, 
so well known at all public sales, when he always sat in 
the front row, watching for good bargains, and keeping 
cool while all around were in a # state of fervent excite- 
ment. The letters he had just read had re opened more 
than one heart- wound of old times — wounds badly scarred 
and badly healed. He was suffering intensely, and pain, 
wrath, and hope of vengeance long delayed, imparted to 
his features a strange expression of energy and nobility. 
Resting his elbows on the table, holding his head in his 
hands, and looking apparently into the far past, he seemed 


“TO DIE SO YOUNG !” 


17 


to be recalling the miseries of former times, and tracing 
out the vague outlines of some great scheme of the future. 
And as his thoughts progressed he broke ouc into a strange, 
spasmodic soliloquy. 

“Yes,” he murmured, “yes, I recognize your work, 
Sarah Brandon. Poor child, poor child ! Crushed by such 
horrible intrigues ! And that Daniel, who intrusted her 
to Maxime de Brevan’s care, who is he? Why did she 
not write to him when she suffered thus? Ah, if she had 
trusted me ! What a sad fate ! How can I ever hope to 
induce her to confide in me ?” 

At this moment an old clock standing in a corner struck 
seven, and the dealer was suddenly recalled to the pres- 
ent. 

“Dear me !” he growled. “I was falling asleep, and 
time is precious. I must go up stairs, and hear the child’s 
confession.” 

With amazing dexterity he then replaced the letters in 
their envelopes, and dried and smoothed them down, till 
every trace of the steam had entirely disappeared. Then 
he rapidly climbed the stairs to the fifth floor. 

On reaching Mile. Henriette’s room he found that he 
must give some credit to Mme. Chevassat and the two 
ladies from the first floor, who had skillfully turned the 
articles he had contributed to use. The room, which an 
hour previously had been so cold and bare, now wore an 
air of comparative comfort. On the drawers stood a 
lamp, with its shade so adjusted that the light might not 
hurt the patient’s eyes. A bright fire blazed in the fire- 
place, several old curtains had been hung before the win- . 
dow, one over the other, so as to replace for the time the 
missing panes, while on the table were a tea-kettle, a 
china cup, and two small medicine bottles. So the doctor 
had called during Ravinet’s absence. He had bled the 
poor girl, prescribed some medicine, and departed, with 
the assurance that nothing more was needed but perfect 
quiet. In fact, had it not been for the patient’s pallid 
cheeks no traces remained of her sufferings or of the ter- 
rible danger from which she had so marvelously escaped. 
Lying at ease on her now comfortable bed, with its thick 
mattresses and snow-white sheets, her head reposing on a 
couple of pillows, she was breathing freely, as was evi- 
dent from the steady, regular rise and fall of her bosom 
under the coverlet. But life and consciousness had also 
brought back to her a full sense of her distressing posi- 
tion, and with her brow resting on her arm, almost con- 


18 


“TO DIE SO YOUNG !” 


cealed by thick locks of golden hair, she was lying motion- 
less looking into space, the big tears gathering beneath 
her eyelids, slowly dropping meanwhile down her cheeks. 
•Sorrow imparts at times an additional charm to beauty, 
and when, as Papa Ravinet entered the room, he beheld 
her thus, he paused abruptly, struck with admiration. 
But as he did not wish his acts to be misinterpreted, or to 
be accused of prying, he coughed, so as to announce his 
arrival, and then stepped forward again. 

On hearing him Henriette roused herself, and speaking 
in a faint, feeble voice, said : 

“Ah, it is you, sir. Those kind, ladies have told me 
everything. You have saved my life.” Then shaking her 
head she added, “ You have rendered me a sad service, 
sir. ” 

She uttered these words so simply, but in a tone of such 
harrowing grief that Papa Ravinet was overcome. 

“Unhappy child !” he exclaimed, “you surely do not 
think of trying it over again ?” 

She made no answer. It was as good as if she had said, 
Yes. 

“ Why, you must be mad !” resumed the old man, ex- 
cited almost beyond control. To give up life at your age ! 
No doubt you are suffering now, but you can hardly imag- 
ine what compensation Providence may have in store for 
you hereafter.” 

Interrupting him by a gesture she rejoined, “There was 
no future for me, sir, when I sought refuge in death.” 

“ But ” 

“ Oh, don’t try to convince me, sir. I did what I had to 
do. I felt that life was leaving me, and I only wished to 
shorten my agony. I had not eaten anything for three 
days when I lit that charcoal, and to procure it I had to 
risk a falsehood, and cheat the woman who let me have 
it on credit. And yet, God knows, I was not wanting in 
courage. I would have cheerfully done the coarsest, hard- 
est work. But how could I procure employment ? I asked 
Mine. Chevassat a hundred times to obtain work for me, 
but she always laughed in my face, and when I begged all 
the harder she said — : — ” 

Henrietue paused, and the crimson blush of shame suf- 
fused her features. She did not dare to repeat what the 
doorkeeper’s wife had said to her. But she added, in a 
voice trembling with womanly virtue and indignation : 

“Ah, that woman is a wicked creature.” 

The old dealer was probably fully acquainted with Mme. 


“TO DIE SO YOUNG !” 


19 


Chevassat’s character. He guessed only too readily what 
kind of advice she had given this poor girl of twenty, who 
had turned to her for help in her dire distress. He could 
not repress an oath which would have startled even that 
estimable female, and then warmly replied : 

“I understand you. Mile. Henriette, I understand. Do 
you think I don’t know what you must have suffered ? I 
know poverty as well as you do. I can understand your 
purpose only too well. Who would not give up life itself 
when everybody abandons us ? But I do not understand 
your despair now that circumstances have changed.” 

“ Alas, sir, how have they changed ?” 

“ How ? What do you mean ? Don’t you see me? Do 
you think I would abandon you, after arriving just in 
time to save your life ? That would be pretty conduct. 
No, my dear child, compose yourself ; poverty shall not 
come near you again, I’ll see to that. You want some 
one to advise you, to defend you, and here 1 am ; if you 
have enemies let them beware. Come, smile again, and 
think of the good times a-coming.” 

But she did not smile ; she looked frightened, almost 
stupefied. Making a supreme effort she looked fixedly at 
the old man to see if she could read his real thoughts in 
his face. He, on his part, was seriously disturbed by his 
failure to win her confidence. 

“ Do you doubt my promises?” he asked. 

She shook her head, and speaking slowly, as if to give 
her words greater weight she said : 

“ I beg your pardon, sir. I do not doubt you. But I 
cannot understand why you should offer me your kind 
protection.” 

Papa Ravinet affected greater surprise than he really 
felt, and raising his hands to heaven, exclaimed : 

“Great God! she mistrusts my good will.” 

“ Sir !” 

“ Pray what can you have to fear from me ? I am an 
old man ; you are almost a child. I come to help you. Is 
it not perfectly natural and simple ?” 

She said nothing, and he remained for a moment buried 
in thought, as if trying to divine her motive for refusing 
his help. Suddenly he struck his forehead, and exclaimed : 

u Ah, I have it. That woman Chevassat has talked to 
you about me, no doubt. Ah, the viper. I’ll crush her 
one of these days. Come, let us be frank ; what has she 
told you ?” 

He hoped that Henriette would at least give him a word 


20 


“TO DIE SO YOUNG!” 


of reply. He waited, but none came. Then breaking 
forth with strange vehemence, and in language one would 
scarcely have expected a man like him to use, he con- 
tinued : 

“Well, I will tell you what the old thief said. She told 
you Papa Ravinet was a dangerous man, of bad repute, 
who plied all kinds of suspicious callings in the dark. She 
told you that the old scamp was a usurer, who knew no 
law, and kept no promise ; whose only principle was 
profit ; who dealt in everything with everybody, selling 
one day old iron in junk shops, and on the morrow cash- 
mere shawls to fashionable ladies ; lending money on im- 
aginary securities— the talent of men and the beauty of 
women. In short, she told you that it was a piece of 
good fortune for a woman to obtain my protection, and 
you knew it was a disgrace.” He paused as if to allow the 
poor girl time to form her judgment, and then proceeded 
in a calmer tone, “Let us suppose that there is such a Papa 
Ravinet as she has described. But there is another one 
whom only a very few people know, a man who has been 
sorely tried by misfortune ; and it is he who now offers 
you his help.” 

There is no surer way of inducing people to believe in 
such virtues as we may possess, or pretend to possess, 
than to accuse ourselves of failings, and even vices, from 
which we are exempt. But if the old fellow had calculated 
upon this policy he failed signally in his object. Henri- 
ette remained as icy as ever, and merely said : 

“ Believe me, sir, I am exceedingly grateful to you for 
all you have done for me, and for your efforts to convince 
me.” 

Papa Ravinet looked disappointed. 

“ So you reject my offers,” said he, “simply because I 
do not explain them by any of the usual motives. But 
what can I tell you ? Suppose I told you that I have a 
daughter who has secretly left me ; that I do not know 
what has become of her, and that her memory makes me 
anxious to serve you. May I not have said to myself that 
she is struggling with poverty like you ; that she has been 
in similar fashion abandoned by her lover?” 

The poor girl turned deadly pale as the dealer spoke in 
this strain, and raising herself on her pillows eagerly in- 
terrupted him : 

“You are mistaken, sir. My position here may justify 
such suspicions, I know, but I have no lover.” 

“ I believe you,” he replied j “ I swear I believe you. But 


“TO DIE SO YOUNG !’* 21 

if that is so, how did you get here, and how were you 
reduced to such extreme suffering ?” 

At last Papa Ravinet had touched the right chord. Hen- 
riette was deeply moved, and tears started from her eyes. 

“There are secrets which cannot be revealed,” she mur- 
mured. 

“ Not even when life and honor depend on them ?” 

« Vac ” 

“ But- ” 

“ Oh, pray do not insist !” 

If Henriette had known the old merchant she would 
have read in his eyes the satisfaction he now felt. A mo- 
ment before he had despaired of ever gaining her confi- 
dence ; but at present he felt almost sure of success, and 
determined to strike a decisive blow.” 

“I confess,” said he, “that I have tried my best to win 
your confidence, but it was solely in your own interest. 
If it had been otherwise do you think I should have asked 
you these questions, when it was so easy for me to ascer- 
tain everything by simply tearing a piece of paper ?” 

The poor girl could not restrain a cry of alarm. 

“You mean my letters?” she said. 

“I have them both.” 

“ Ah ! Then that is why the ladies who nursed me looked 
everywhere for them in vain.” 

Papa Ravinet’ s only answer was to draw the missives 
from his pocket, and to lay them on the bed with an air 
of injured innocence. To all appearances the envelopes 
had not been touched. Henriette gave them a glance, and 
then holding out her hand to the dealer she said : 

“ I thank you, sir.” 

Ravinet did not stir, but he realized that this mock 
proof of honesty had helped him more than all his elo- 
quence. 

“After all,” said he, in a hurried tone, “I could not re- 
sist the temptation to read the directions, and draw my 
own conclusions. Who is the Count de Ville-Handry ? 
Your father, I suppose. And M. Maxime de Brevan? No 
doubt the young man who called to see you so often. Ah, 
if you would only trust me ! If you knew how a little ex- 
perience of the world often helps us to overcome the great- 
est difficulties !” He was evidently deeply moved. “ How- 
ever, wait till you are perfectly well again before coming 
to any decision. Consider the matter carefully. You need 
only tell me the bare facts I ought to know in order to ad- 
vise you.” 


22 


HENRIETTE’S FATHER. 


“Yes, indeed ! In that way I might ” 

“Well, then, I’ll wait as long as you wish me to wait — 
two days, ten days.” 

“ Very well.” 

“Only, I pray you, promise me solemnly to give up all 
idea of suicide.” 

“I promise you solemnly I will.” 

Papa Ravinet’s eyes shone with delight ; and he joyfully 
exclaimed : 

“Done! I’ll come up again to-morrow, for, to tell the 
truth, I am tired to death, and must go and lie down.” 

This was plainly a pious fib on the old fellow’s part, for 
instead of returning to his rooms he left the house, and on 
reaching the street concealed himself in a dark corner, 
whence he could watch the front door. Here he remained 
exposed to wind and rain, now and then giving vent to a 
low oath, and stamping his feet to keep them warm. At 
last, just as eleven was striking, a cab stopped in front of 
No. 2.5, and a young man alighted, rang the bell, and en- 
tered the house. 

“ That’s Maxime de Brevan,” murmured the dealer, add- 
ing, in a savage voice, “ I knew he would come, the scoun- 
drel ! to see if the charcoal had done its work.” 

But a moment later the young man came out again, and 
sprang into the vehicle, which quickly drove away. 

“ Aha !” laughed Papa Ravinet ; “no chance for you, 
my fine fellow ! You have lost you£ game ; you’ll have to 
try your luck elsewhere ; and this time I am on hand. I 
hold you fast, and instead of one bill to pay there will 
be two.”' 


CHAPTER II. 

HENRIETTE’S FATHER. 

For a long while after the old dealer’s departure Henri- 
ette remained reflecting over her position, and asking her- 
self what decision she should take. To refuse Papa Ravi- 
net’s proffered assistance would have required more energy 
than she possessed. An inward voice constantly repeated, 
“ The old man is your only hope.” 

It never occurred to her to conceal the truth from Papa 
Ravinet, or to' deceive him by a fictitious story. She only 
deliberated how she might tell him the truth without ac- 
quainting him with everything ; how she might confess 
sufficient to enable him to serve her, and yet not betray a 


HENRIETTAS FATHER, 


23 


secret which she held dearer than happiness, reputation, 
and life itself. Unfortunately she was the victim of one 
of those intrigues which originate and progress within the 
narrow circle of a family — intrigues of the most abomin- 
able character, which people suspect, and are often fully 
acquainted with, and which yet remain unpunished, as 
they are beyond the reach of the law. Henriette’s father, 
the Count de Ville-Handry, was in 1845 one of the wealth- 
iest landowners of the province of Anjou. He was then 
about forty years of age, tall and good-looking, and albeit 
somewhat solemn and reserved, still at times grandly affa- 
ble and obliging, and even good-natured to boot. As he 
seldom spoke, and even then with remarkable brevity, he 
managed to say fewer foolish .things than most people are 
in the habit of uttering, and thus he won the reputation 
of being clever and well informed, of which he was very 
proud and careful. He lived freely, almost profusely, 
putting aside each year but little more than half his in- 
come. He was dressed by a Paris tailor, and always wore 
the most exquisite boots and gloves. The castle was kept 
in handsome style, and the pleasure-grounds were a great 
source of expense. The stables sheltered six hunters and 
the kennels a pack of hounds. 

This wealthy nobleman of forty was still unmarried. 
And yet he had not lacked opportunities to assume the 
bonds of Hymen, for there was not a mother for twenty 
miles around who did not covet this prize for her daughter 
— ten thousand a year, and a great name. He had only to 
appear at a ball, and at once he became the hero of the 
evening. Mothers and daughters alike lavished their 
sweetest smiles on him, and flattering welcomes were forth- 
coming on all sides. But all maneuvers had been fruitless ; 
he had escaped every snare, and defeated every match- 
maker’s cunning devices. Why was he so averse to mat- 
rimony ? His friends referred the explanation to a certain 
person, half housekeeper, half companion, who lived at 
the castle, and who was both very pretty and very design- 
ing. But then there are mali ious tongues everywhere. 

However, in July, 1847, an event occurred which was 
calculated to impart some plausibility to these idle, gossip- 
ing tales. One fine day the count’s housekeeper died most 
unexpectedly, and six weeks later it was reported that the 
Count de Ville-Handry was going to be married. The re- 
port was correct. The count did marry, and the fact could 
not be doubted any longer, when the bans were read, and 
the announcement appeared in the official journal. And 


24 


HENRIETTE’S FATHER. 


whom do you think he married ? Why, the daughter of a 
poor widow, the Baroness de Rupert, who was living in 
great poverty at a place called Rosiers, her sole income 
being a small pension granted her for her husband’s ser- 
vices as a colonel of artillery. 

She did not even belong to a good old family, nor was 
she either a native of the province. No one exactly knew 
who she was, or where she came from. Some people said 
the colonel had married her in Austria ; others, in Sweden. 
Her husband, they added, had merely been created a 
baron under the first empire, and had no genuine right to 
call himself a noble. On the other hand, Pauline de Ru- 
pert, then twenty-three years old, was in the full bloom 
of early womanhood, and marvelously beautiful. More- 
over, she had hitherto been looked upon as a sensible, 
modest girl, possessed of every quality and virtue that 
can make life happy. But now people mainly insisted on 
the fact that she had no dower — not a farthing, not even 
a trousseau. The idea of the count marrying her amazed 
every one, and a perfect storm of indignation swept over 
the country side. Was it possible, was it natural, that a 
great nobleman like M. de Ville-Handry should end in 
this miserable, ridiculous fashion — and marry a penniless 
girl, an adventuress — he who had had the pick and qhoice 
of the richest and greatest heiresses of the land? Was 
the count a fool ? or was he only insane about Mile, de Ru- 
pert? Was she not, perhaps, after all, a designing hypo- 
crite, who, in her retired home, had quietly woven the 
net in which the lion of Anjou was now held captive? 
People would have been less astonished if they had known 
‘that for some years a great intimacy had existed between 
the bride’s mother and the deceased housekeeper at the 
castle. But on the other hand, this fact might have led 
to more scandalous surmises still. 

However this might be, the count was not long allowed 
to remain in doubt as to the change of opinion in the 
neighborhood. He realized it as soon as he paid his usual 
visits at Angers, or called on the nobility near him. No 
more affectionate smiles, tender welcomes, or little white 
hands stealthily seeking his. The doors that formerly 
seemed to fly open at his mere approach now turned but 
slowly on their hinges ; some even remained closed, the 
owners being reported not at home, although the count 
knew perfectly well that they were indoors at the time. 
One very noble and pious old lady who gave the key-note 
to Angevin society, had said to her friends in the most 


HENRIETTE’S FATHER. 


25 


decided manner, “For my part, I will never receive at my 
house a damsel who used to give music lessons to my 
nieces, even if she had caught and entrapped a Bourbon. ” 
The charge was true. Pauline, in order to provide her 
mother with some of the comforts which are almost in- 
dispensable to old age, had given lessons on the piano-forte 
to several young ladies residing in the neighborhood. Her 
terms had been low enough, and yet she was now blamed 
precisely for accepting such paltry remuneration. Folks 
would indeed have blamed her for the noblest of virtues, 
for all the blame was cast on her. When people met her 
they averted their heads, so as not to have to bow to her, 
and even when she was leaning on the count’s arm there 
were some who spoke most courteously to him, and yet 
did not say a word to his wife, as if they had not seen 
her, or as though she had not existed at all. This imperti- 
nence went so far that at last one day the count was so 
enraged that he seized one of his neighbors by the collar 
of his coat and shook him violently, exclaiming : 

“Don’t you see the countess, my wife, sir? How shall 
I chastise you to cure you of your near-sightedness ?” 

Foreseeing a duel, the impertinent individual apolo- 
gized, and his experience put others on their guard. But 
their opinions remained unchanged — open war only 
changed into secret opposition— that was all. 

Fate, however, always kinder than man, held a reward 
in store for the count, which amply repaid him for his her- 
oism in marrying a penniless girl. One of his wife’s un- 
cles, a banker at Dresden, died, leaving his “beloved niece 
Pauline” a legacy of two and a half million francs. This 
opulent individual, who had never assisted his sister in 
her trouble, and who would have utterly disinherited 
Mile, de Rupert had she remained the mere daughter of a 
soldier of fortune, had been flattered by the idea of inscrib- 
ing in his will the name of the “ high and mighty Countess 
de Ville-Handry.” This unexpected piece of good fortune 
ought to have delighted the young wife. She might now 
have revenged herself on all her slanderers, and acquired 
unbounded popularity. But far from appearing glad, she 
had never looked sadder than on the day when the great 
news reached her. For on that very day she for the first 
time cursed her marriage. The voice of conscience re- 
minded her that she ought never to have yielded to her 
mother’s entreaties and words. An excellent daughter, 
destined to become the best of mothers, and the most 
faithful of wives, she had literally sacrificed herself. And 


26 


HENRIETTE’S FATHER. 


now she perceived that her sacrifice had been superfluous. 

Ah, why had she not resisted at least for the purpose of 
gaining time ? For in her girlhood she had dreamed of a 
very different future. Long before giving her hand to the 
count she had, of her own free will, given her heart to 
another. She had bestowed her first and warmest affec- 
tions upon a young man who was only two or three years 
older than herself — Peter Champcey, the son of one of 
those wealthy farmers who live in the valley of the Loire. 
He worshiped her. Unfortunately, from the very first 
there had been an obstacle between them — Pauline’s pov- 
erty. It could not be expected that such keen, thrifty 
peasants, as Champcey’s father and mother, would ever 
allow one of their sons — they had two — to perpetrate so 
foolish an act as marrying for love. 

They had toiled hard for their children’s benefit ; Peter, 
the elder, was to be a lawyer ; while Daniel, the younger, 
who longed to go to sea, was studying day and night pre- 
paring for the examination he must pass before entering 
the service of the state. The old couple were not a little 
proud of these “gentlemen,” their sons, and they told 
everybody they knew that in return for the education 
they were giving their boys they expected them to marry 
large fortunes. Peter knew his parents so well that he 
never mentioned Pauline to them. 

“When I am of age,”* he said to himself, “it will be a 
different matter.” 

Ah ! why had not Pauline’s mother waited at least till 
then ? Poor girl ! on the day she entered the castle of 
Ville-Handry she had sworn she would bury this love of 
hers so deep in the innermost recesses of her heart, that it 
should never resuscitate nor hinder her from performing 
her duty. And hitherto she had kept her word, but now it 
suddenly broke forth, more powerful than ever, till it 
well-nigh overcame her. What had become of the man 
she should have waited for ? When he had heard that she 
was going to marry the count he had written her a last 
letter, in which he overwhelmed her with irony and con- 
tempt. Had he since forgotten her ? At all events, he 
also had married, and the two lovers, who had once hoped 
to walk hand in hand through life, were now each follow- 
ing a different road. 


* In France, a young man cannot marry without his parents’ con- 
sent until he is five-and-twenty, and even then he is obliged to signify 
his intentions by formal somnattons respectueuses. 


HENRIETTAS FATHER. 


27 


For long hours the young countess struggled in the 
solitude of her chamber against the ghosts of the past 
which crowded round her. But if ever a guilty thought 
called a blush to her brow she quickly conquered it. Like 
a brave, loyal woman, she renewed her oath, and swore 
to devote herself entirely to her husband. He had rescued 
her from abject poverty, and bestowed upon her his for- 
tune and his name ; and in requital she must make him 
happy. She needed all her courage, all her energy, to 
fulfill her vows, for two years of married life had shown 
her the count as he really was — with a narrow mind, 
empty thoughts, and cold heart. She had long since dis- 
covered that the brilliant man of the world, whom every- 
body considered so clever, was in reality an absolute null- 
ity, incapable of propounding any idea that was not sug- 
gested to him by others, and at the same time full of over- 
weening self esteem and absurd obstinacy. The worst was, 
however, the count felt a growing repugnance for his wife. 
He had heard so many people say that she was not his 
equal, that he finally believed it himself ; and besides he 
blamed her for the prestige he had lost. An ordinary 
woman would have shrunk from the difficult task which 
Pauline saw lying before her, and would have contented 
herself with respecting her marriage vows. But the coun- 
tess was not an ordinary woman. She meant to do more 
than her duty. Fortunately a cradle somewhat lightened 
her task. She had a daughter, her Henriette, and upon 
that darling curly head she built a thousand castles in the 
air. Shaking off the languor to which she had given way 
for nearly two years, she began to study the count with 
all the sagacity that hope of a high reward is apt to give. 

A remark accidentally made by her husband shed a new 
light on her destiny. One morning, in the course of con- 
versation after breakfast, he happened to say : 

“ Ah, Nancy was very fond of you. The day before she 
died, when she knew she was going, she made me promise 
her that I would marry you.” 

This Nancy was the count’s former housekeeper, and 
after such a significant remark the young countess clearly 
realized what position she had really held at the castle. 
She understood how, ^though keeping in the background, 
and exaggerating the humility of her position, she had been 
in truth the count’s intellect, energy, and will. Her influ- 
ence over him had besides been so powerful that it had 
survived her, and she had been obeyed even when already 
gone. Although cruelly humiliated by this confession on 


28 


HENRIETTE’S FATHER. 


her husband’s part the countess had sufficient self-control 
not to blame him for his weakness. “Well, be it so,” she 
remarked to herself, “for his happiness and our peace I 
will stoop to play the same part Nancy played.” 

After toiling patiently and cautiously during several 
months she fancied she had learned the secret of manag- 
ing him, and would henceforth be able to influence his 
will whenever she was in earnest. 

An opportunity to make the experiment was soon offered. 
Although the nobility of the neighborhood had generally 
altered in their behavior toward the countess, and treated 
her with due courtesy, especially since she had become an 
heiress, she scarcely found Ville-Handry a pleasant place 
to sojourn, and was anxious to leave Anjou. The sites 
around recalled too many painful memories. There were 
lanes and paths she could never tread without a pang at 
her heart. On the other hand, it was well known that the 
count had sworn to end his days on his estate. He hated 
large cities, and the mere idea of leaving his castle, where 
everything was arranged to suit his habits, invariably 
raised his ire. Hence, when it was reported that he meant 
to leave Ville-Handry, and had purchased a mansion in 
Paris, intending to establish himself permanently in the 
capital, people set the rumor down as a joke, and obsti- 
nately refused to believe in it. And yet it was true ; and, 
strange to say, although it was the countess who by her 
diplomacy had imparted this intention to M. de Ville- 
Handry, he really believed that he was acting against her 
desires. He was, indeed, delighted. 

“My wife,” he said, “was altogether opposed to our go- 
ing to Paris, but I am not a weather-cock. I insisted on 
having my way, and she had to yield at last.” 

Thus, toward the close of 1851, the Count and Countess 
de Ville Handry moved to a princely mansion in the aris- 
tocratic Eue de Varennes, which did not cost them more 
than a third of its real value, for owing to the gloomy po- 
litical situation, house property then found no purchasers 
in Paris. 

It had been comparatively child’s play to bring the count 
to the capital ; the real difficulty was to keep him there. 

Deprived of the active exercise and the fresh air he had 
enjoyed in the country, without any of his usual occupa- 
tions and duties, he might either give way to weariness or 
seek refuge in dissipation. His wife realized this danger, 
and determined to provide the count with suitable employ- 
ment and amusement. Before leaving Anjou she had 


HENRIETTAS FATHER. 


29 


already sown in his mind the seed of a passion, which, in 
a man of fifty, may a'cquire pre-eminence above all others 
— ambition, and, in point of fact, he came to Paris with 
the secret desire and hope of winning political renown. 
The countess, who was well aware, however, Qf the dan- 
gers that beset a neophyte in the legislative arena, had de- 
termined to begin by examining the situation, so as to be 
able to guide her husband in the future. Her rank and 
fortune proved of great assistance to her in this enterprise. 
She managed to attract all the celebrities of the day to her 
receptions, and her Wednesdays and Saturdays soon be- 
came famous throughout Paris. People of admitted im- 
portance were flattered by an invitation to one of her grand 
dinners, or even to one of her smaller parties on Sundays. 
The mansion in the Rue de Yarennes was considered neu- 
tral ground, where political intriguing and party strife 
were alike tabooed. The countess spent a whole winter 
pursuing her investigations ; and her guests, as they saw 
her seated modestly by the fireside, fancied that she was 
entirely occupied with her pretty little girl, Henriette, 
who was constantly with her. But, in point of fact, she 
was carefully listening to the conversation around her, 
and striving, with all her mental powers, to understand 
the great questions of the day. She studied the characters 
of the men of import who met in her salons ; noted the 
passions that influenced several of them, and detected the 
trickery of others — taking especial care to distinguish those 
who might prove enemies, and those who might become 
allies, and whom it was therefore expedient to conciliate. 
Like certain imperfectly informed professors, who “read 
up” in the morning the subject they mean to treat in the 
afternoon, she carefully grounded herself for the lessons 
she meant soon to give, and, thanks to her superior intel- 
lect and feminine shrewdness, she had not to endure too 
long a period of probation. At the beginning of the fol- 
lowing winter the count, who had so far kept aloof from 
politics, came out with his opinions. He soon made his 
mark, aided by his prepossessing appearance, elegant 
manners, and imperturbable self-possession. He spoke in 
public, and the common-sense of his remarks — so rare a 
quality in an orator — at once created a favorable impres- 
sion. He advised others, and they were struck by his 
sagacity. He had soon numerous enthusiastic partisans, 
and of course as many violent adversaries. His friends 
encouraged him to become the leader of his party, and he 
worked day and night to achieve that end. 


30 


HENRIETTAS FATHER. 

“Unfortunately I have to pay for ^ It home,” he said 
to his intimate friends, “ for my wife is one of those timid 
women who cannot understand that men are made for 
the excitement of public life. I should still be in the prov- 
inces if I h#d listened to her.” 

She enjoyed her work in quiet delight. The greater her 
husband’s success the prouder she became of her own use- 
fulness. She had made him happy in the only way in which 
a man of inferior abilities can be made happy — by gratify- 
ing his vanity. Thus she was no longer under any obliga- 
tion to him, for as she said to herself, “We are quits, fairly 
quits !”- 

She reproached herself no longer for allowing her 
thoughts to turn at times to the man of her early choice. 
Poor fellow ! She had been his evil star. His existence 
had been embittered from the day he was forsaken by the 
woman he loved better than life itself. His parents had 
“ hunted up” an heiress, and he had dutifully married her. 
But the good old people had been unlucky. The bride, 
chosen among a thousand, had brought their son a fortune 
of half a million francs, but she proved a bad woman, and 
after eight years of intolerable matrimonial bondage Peter 
Champcey had shot himself, unable to endure any longer 
his domestic misfortunes, and his wife’s disgraceful infi- 
delity. He had, however, avoided committing this crime 
at Angers, where he held a high official position. He had 
gone to Hosiers, where Pauline’s mother had lived in pov- 
erty, and there, in a narrow lane nigh the Rupert’s former 
abode, his body was found by some peasants coming from 
market, his features being so fearfully disfigured that at 
first no one recognized him. The affair created a terrible 
sensation. The countess first heard of it through her hus- 
band. He could not understand, he said, how a man in a 
good position, with a large income at hand and a bright 
future before him, could destroy himself in this fashion. 
“And to choose such a strange place for his suicide !” he 
added. “It is evident the man was mad.” But the coun- 
tess did not hear this last remark. She had fainted. She 
understood only too well why Peter had wished to die in 
that sequestered lane, beneath the shadow of the old elm 
trees. The blow was so sudden and so severe that she 
could scarcely bear it. However, her mother died nearly 
at the same time, and this misfortune helped to explain 
her utter prostration and grief. Never did woman suffer 
as acutely as she did from the day her lover’s suicide added 
bitter remorse to all her former grief. What would have 


HENRIETTE’S FATHER. 


31 


become of her if her child had not bound her to life ? For 
she resolved to live, ?<;. Ung that she must do so for Henri- 
ette’s sake. 

Thus she struggled on alone, for she had not a soul in 
whom she could confide ; when one afternoon, as she was 
going down stairs, a servant approached and told her that 
a young man in naval uniform wished to have the honor of 
speaking with her. The servant handed her the visitor’s 
card, on which she read the name “ Daniel Champcey.” 
It was Peter’s brother. Pale as death, the countess turned 
as if to escape. 

“What answer does madam wish me to give ?” asked the 
servant, rather surprised at the emotion his mistress 
showed. 

Madame de Ville-Handry was faint and dizzy. 

“Show him up,” she replied, in a scarcely audible voice, 
“show him up.” 

When she raised her eyes again a young man of three or 
four-and-twenty, with a frank, open face, and clear, bright 
eyes beaming with intelligence and energy, stood before 
her. The countess pointed to a chair near her ; she was 
quite unable to speak. The young fellow could not help 
noticing her embarrassment, but he did not guess its 
cause, for Peter had never mentioned Pauline’s name in 
his father’s house. So he sat down, and explained the ob- 
ject of his visit. After graduating at the Naval Academy 
he had been appointed as a midshipman on board The For- 
midable, with which vessel he still served. A younger 
man had recently been wrongly promoted over him, and 
he had asked for leave of absence to appeal to the Minis- 
ter of Marine in Paris. He was sure of the justice of his 
claims, but he also knew that strong recommendations 
never spoil a good cause. In fact, he hoped that the 
Count de Ville-Handry, of whose kindness and great influ- 
ence he had heard a great deal, would consent to indorse 
his appeal. 

While listening the countess had gradually recovered her 
calmness. 

“My husband will be happy to serve a countryman of 
his,” she replied ; “and he will tell you so himself, if you 
will wait for him and say to dinner. ” 

Daniel did stay. At the table he was seated next to 
Henriette, then fifteen years of age, and the countess, see- 
ing these young people side by side, was suddenly struck 
with an idea which seemed to her nothing less than an in- 
spiration from on high. Why might she not intrust her 


32 


HENRIETTAS FATHER. 


daughter’s future happiness to the brother of the man who 
had loved her so dearly ? In this way she might make 
some amends for her own conduct, and show some respect 
to his memory. 

“ Yes,” she said to herself that night before falling asleep, 
“it must be so. Daniel shall be Henriette’s husband.” 

Thus it happened that a fortnight afterward the Count 
de Vilie Handry pointed out Daniel to one of his intimate 
friends, and remarked : 

“ That young Champcey is a very remarkable young 
man ; he has a great future before him. And one of these 
days, when he is a lieutenant, and a few years older, if it 
so happened that he liked Henriette, and asked me for my 
consent, I should not say No. The countess might think 
and say what she pleased ; I should have to remind her 
that I am the master.” 

From that time forward Daniel became a constant vis- 
itor at the house in the Rue de Varennes. He had not only 
obtained ample satisfaction at headquarters, but by the 
powerful influence of certain high personages, he had been 
temporarily assigned to office duty at the Ministry of Ma- 
rine, with the promise of a better position in active serv- 
ice hereafter. Thus Daniel and Henriette met frequently, 
and, to all appearances, began to love each other. 

“ Oh, Heaven!” thought the countess, “why are they 
not a few years older ?” 

For several months Mme. de Ville-Handry had been 
troubled by dismal presentiments. She felt she would not 
live long, and she trembled at the idea of leaving her child 
without any other protector than the count. If Henriette 
had at least known the truth, and instead of admiring her 
father as a man of superior ability had learned to mis- 
trust his judgment ! Over and over again the countess 
was on the point of revealing her secret, but excessive 
delicacy always kept her from doing so. 

One night, on returning from a ball, she was suddenly 
seized with vertigo. She did not think much of it, but 
asked for a cup of tea. When it came she was standing in 
her dressing-room before the fire-place, undoing her hair, 
but instead of taking it she suddenly raised her hand to 
her throat, gave vent to a hoarse moan, and fell back. 
The servants raised her up, and in an instant the whole 
house was astir. Several physicians were sent for, but all 
in vain. The Countess de Ville-Handry had died from 
disease of the heart. 


SERIOUS TROUBLE. 


33 


CHAPTER III. 

SERIOUS TROUBLE. 

Henriette, roused by the voices on the landing, and the 
tramp on the staircase, and suspecting that some accident 
had happened, had rushed at once into her mother’s room, 
where she heard the doctors utter the fatal sentence, “ It 
is all over !” There were five or six of them in the room, 
and one of them had drawn the count into a corner, and 
pressing his hand, was repeating, over and over again, 
“Courage, my dear sir, courage!” M. de Ville-Handry’s 
eyes were turned to the floor, and a cold perspiration had 
gathered on his pallid brow. He evidently did not under- 
stand the physician, for he continued to stammer inces- 
santly, “ It is nothing, I hope. Did you not say it was 
nothing ?” 

“ Mamma is not dead ; oh, no ! she cannot be dead !” ex- 
claimed Henriette. At last, however, the truth broke upon 
her mind. She fell upon her knees by the bedside, hiding 
her face in the hangings, and repeating amid her sobs, 
“ Mamma, darlipg mamma !” 

On the next day the funeral took place/ More than 
three hundred persons called to condole with the count, or 
left their cards, and fully thirty ladies came and kissed 
Henriette, calling her their poor dear child. Then the 
clatter of horses’ hoofs was heard in the courtyard, there 
was a sound of coachmen quarreling ; orders were given, 
and at last the hearse rolled solemnly away — and that was 
everything. 

Henriette wept and prayed in her own room. Late in 
the day the count and his daughter sat down at table alone 
for the first time in their lives, but they did not eat a 
morsel. How could they do so in presence of the empty 
seat, once occupied by her who was the life of the house, 
and now never to be filled again ? During long week,s 
they wandered about the house without any definite pur- 
pose, but as if looking or hoping for something to happen. 
The countess was not merely mourned, however, by her 
husband and her daughter. Daniel had loved her like a 
mother ; and a mysterious voice warned him .that in 
losing her he had well-nigh lost Henriette as well. He 


34 


SERIOUS TROUBLE. 


had called several times at the house in the Rue de 
Varennes ; but it was only a fortnight later that he was 
admitted. When Henriette saw him she felt sorry she 
had not received him earlier, for he had apparently suf- 
fered as much as herself ; his face was pale, and his eyes 
were red. They remained for some time without exchang- 
ing a word, feeling instinctively, however, that their com- 
mon grief bound them more firmly than ever to each 
other. The count, in the meantime, walked up and down 
the drawing-room. He was so changed that many would 
have failed to recognize him. There was a strange want 
of steadiness in his gait ; he looked almost like a paraly- 
tic, whose crutches had suddenly given way. 

He ought to have abandoned politics forever, but he 
foolishly resumed his duties at a time when they had 
become unusually difficult, and when great things were 
expected of him. Two or three absurd, ridiculous, in fact, 
unpardonable blunders, ruined both his political prestige 
and influence. No one suspected the truth, however. 
Folks attributed the sudden failure of his faculties to the 
great sorrow his wife’s death had caused him. “Who 
would have thought he loved her so dearly ?” they asked 
one another. Henriette was as much misled as the others, 
and perhaps more. Her respect and admiration, far from 
being diminished, increased every day. She loved him all 
the more dearly as she watched the apparent effects of his 
incurable sorrow. He was really deeply grieved, but only 
by his fall. How had it happened ? He tortured his mind 
in vain, for he could not find a plausible explanation. “It 
is perfectly inexplicable,” he would say ; “he was the vic- 
tim of a plot, of a coalition, of mankind’s fickleness and 
black ingratitude.” At first he had serious thoughts of 
returning to Anjou. But with time his wounded vanity 
began to heal ; he forgot his misfortunes, and adopted new 
habits of life. He was a great deal at his club now, rode 
about on horseback, went to the theater, and dined with 
his friends. At first Henriette was delighted, for her 
father’s health had begun to give her serious concern. 
But she was not a little amazed when she saw him lay 
aside his mourning, and in lieu of wearing attire suited to 
his age, adopt the eccentric fashions of the day, donning 
brilliant waistcoats and trousers of fantastic patterns. 
A few days later matters grew worse. One morning the 
count, who was quite gray, made his appearance at break- 
fast with jet-black beard and hair. Henriette could not 


SERIOUS TROUBLE. 


35 


restrain an expression of amazement, whereupon he re- 
marked, with considerable embarrassment : 

“ My valet is making an experiment ; he thinks this is 
better suited to my complexion, and makes me look 
younger. ” 

Something strange was evidently occurring in the count’s 
life. But what was it? Henriette, although ignorant of 
the world, and innocence personified, was, nevertheless, a 
woman, and hence endowed with all the keen instinct of 
her sex, which is often of more value than experience. 
She reflected, and fancied she could guess what was hap- 
pening. After three days’ hesitation she at last ventured 
to confide her troubles to Daniel. But she had only spoken 
a few words when he interrupted her. 

“Don’t trouble yourself about that, Mile. Henriette,” 
said he, blushing deeply ; “ don’t let your father’s conduct 
worry you.” 

This advice was more easily given than followed, for 
the count’s ways became more extraordinary every day. 
He had gradually drifted away from the friends of his 
married life, and to the high-bred society he had formerly 
frequented he now seemed to prefer the company of people 
of questionable manners and breeding. Of a morning a 
number of young fellows on horseback would call at the 
mansion in the Rue de Varennes. They were clad in 
unceremonious costume, and came in smoking their 
cigars, making themselves quite at home, and freely im- 
bibing absinthe and other liquors. In the afternoon 
another set of men made their appearance — intensely vul- 
gar individuals, with huge whiskers and enormous watch- 
chains, who gesticulated vehemently, and were on the best 
terms with the servants. The count closeted himself with 
these strange characters, and their discussions were so 
loud they could be heard all over the house. What was 
all this noisy conversation about? The count undertook 
to enlighten his daughter. He told her that having aban- 
doned politics, he intended to devote himself henceforth to 
financial and commercial enterprise, and hoped confi- 
dently to realize an enormous fortune, while at the ^ame 
time rendering important services to certain branches of 
industry. A fortune? Was he in want of money ? Why, 
with his own property, and his wife’s fortune, he already 
possessed an income of half a million francs. Was that 
not enough for a man of sixty-five, and a young girl who 
did not spend a thousand a year on her toilet? It was 
with the greatest timidity that Henriette, afraid of hurl 


36 SERIOUS TROUBLE. 

ing her father’s feelings, asked him why he wanted more 
money. 

He laughed heartily, playfully tapped her cheek, and 
said, “Ah, you would like to rule your papa, would you?” 

And in a more serious tone he added, “Am I so old, my 
little lady, that I ought to subside into retirement ? Have 
you also gone over to my enemies ?” 

“ Oh, dear papa !” 

“Well, my child, then you ought to know that a man 
like myself cannot condemn himself to inactivity without 
serious risk for his life. I don’t require any more monejr ; 
what I need is an outlet for my energy and talents.” 

This was so sensible a reply that both Henriette and 
Daniel were reassured. The countess had taught both of 
them to look upon her husband as a man of genius, so that 
they were convinced he would succeed in any enterprise 
he embarked in. Besides, Daniel hoped that business 
matters would keep the count from playing the fashiona- 
ble young man. But it seemed as if nothing could turn 
him from this folly ; every day he endeavored to give a 
yet more juvenile turn to his appearance. He dressed 
in the very latest fashion, and never left the house with- 
out a camellia or a rosebud in his button-hole. He no 
longer contented himself with dyeing his hair, but actu- 
ally began to rouge, and used such strong perfumes that 
one might have followed his track through the streets by 
the scent he diffused around him. At times he would sit 
for hours in an arm-chair, with his brow knit, his eyes 
fixed on the ceiling, and his thoughts apparently occupied 
with some grave problem. If he was spoken to on these 
occasions he started like a criminal caught in the act. He 
had quite lost the magnificent appetite, in which, likening 
himself to the Grand Monarque, he had once taken a special 
pride ; and he constantly complained of oppression in the 
chest, and of palpitation of the heart. His daughter 
repeatedly found him with tears in his eyes — big tears, 
which, struggling through his dyed beard, fell like drops 
of ink on to his white shirt-front. Then again these fits 
of melancholy would be followed by sudden -outbursts of 
joy. He would rub his hands till they pained him, sing 
and almost dance with delight. Now and then a commis- 
sionaire (it was always the same man) brought him a let- 
ter. The count invariably tore it from his hands, threw 
him a gold piece, and hurried into his study. 

“Poor papa!” said Henriette to Daniel. “There are 
moments when I tremble for his mind. ” 


SERIOUS TROUBLE. 


37 


At last, one evening after dinner, when he had drank 
more than usually, perhaps in order to fire himself with 
courage, he drew his daughter on to his knees, and said, 
in his softest voice : 

“Confess, my dear child, that in your innermost heart 
you have more than once thought me a very bad father. 
I dare say you blame me for leaving you so constantly 
alone in this large house, where you must feel very weary 
by yourself.” 

There were good grounds for such a charge, for Hen- 
riette was left more completely to herself than if her 
father had been a clerk or a workman, whose avocations 
kept them perforce from home all day long. The clerk 
and the workman at least take their children out on Sun- 
days. Nevertheless, she quietly replied : 

“ I am never weary, papa. ” 

“ Really ? Why, how do you occupy yourself ?” 

“Oh, in the first place, I attend to the housekeeping, 
and try my best to make home pleasant to you. Then I 
embroider, sew, and study. In the afternoon my music 
teacher and my English master come. In the evening 
I read.” 

The count smiled, but it was a forced smile. 

“Never mind !” he broke in, “such a lonely life cannot 
last. A girl of your age stands in need of some one to 
advise and pet her — an affectionate and devoted friend. 
This is why I have been thinking of giving you another 
mamma. ” 

Henriette drew away the arm which she had wound 
round her father’s neck, and rising suddenly to her feet, 
exclaimed : 

“You think of marrying again?” 

He turned his head aside, hesitated for a little, ami then 
replied : 

“Yes.” 

At first the poor girl could not utter a word ; her stupor, 
indignation, and bitter grief were so intense. But making 
an effort, she at last rejoined, in a tremulous voice : 

“ Oh, papa, I cannot believe you — what ! you mean to 
bring another wife to this house, where everything re- 
minds us of our loss? You want another woman to sit in 
mamma’s chair, and rest her feet on the cushion she em- 
broidered ? Perhaps you would even want me to call her 
‘mamma’ as well? Oh, dear papa ! surely you can’t think 
of such profanation !” 

The count’s embarrassment was pitiful in the extreme, 


38 


SERIOUS TROUBLE. 


and yet if Henriette had been less excited, she would have 
read in his eyes that his mind was made up. 

“ What I mean to do will be done in your interest, my 
dear child,” he stammered out at last. u I am old ; I may 
die ; we have no near relations ; what would become of 
you without a friend ?” 

She blushed crimson, and timidly replied : 

“But, papa, there is M. Daniel Champcey.” 

“Well?” ejaculated the count, whose eyes shone with 
delight as he saw she was falling into the pit he had pre- 
pared for her. 

“ I thought — I had hoped — poor mamma had told me — 
in fact, since you allowed M. Daniel to come here — ” stam- 
mered the poor girl. 

“ You thought I intended to make him my son-in law ?” 
asked her father, and seeing she made no answer, he con- 
tinued, “ That Avas in fact one of your mother’s ideas. She 
certainly had very odd notions, against which I had to use 
the Avhole strength of my firm will. A sailor is a sorry 
kind of husband, my dear child ; a word from his minister 
may separate him from his wife for years.” 

Henriette still remained silent. She began to realize 
the nature of the bargain her father proposed, and felt 
indignant. He, on his side, considered he had said enough 
for this occasion, so he left her with these Avords, “ Con- 
sider, my child ; for my part, I will also think over the 
matter.” 

“ What should she do ?” she asked herself, as soon as 
she was alone. After a moment’s reflection she took a 
pen, and for the first time in her life wrote to Daniel : 

‘ T must speak to you instantly. Pray come. Henriette.” 

She §ave the letter to a servant, odering him to carry it 
at once to its address, and remained waiting in a state of 
feverish anxiety for Daniel to arrive. 

When the count’s servant arrived with Henriette’s let- 
ter, Daniel was seated in his little study. He realized 
that something extraordinary must have happened for 
Henriette, Avho was usually so reserved, to Avrite to him, 
and especially in such brief but urgent terms. 

“Has anything happened at the count’s?” he asked the 
servant. 

“No, sir, not that I knoAv of.” 

“ The count is not ill ?” 

“No, sir.” 

“ And Mile. Henriette ?” 


SERIOUS TROUBLE. 


39 


“My mistress is quite well.” 

Daniel breathed more freely. 

“ Te21 Mile. Henriette I will come at once, and make 
haste, or I shall arrive before you.” 

Having dressed as soon as the servant left Daniel walked 
rapidly toward the Rue de Varennes. 

“I have, no doubt, alarmed myself unnecessarily,” he 
thought, as he approached the house. “ Perhaps she has 
only some commission for me.” 

But he was still beset with dark presentiments, and re- 
alized, as soon as he entered the drawing-room, that his 
first impression had been correct, for Henriette was seated 
by the fire, with pale cheeks and lips, and swollen eyes. 

“ What is the matter?” he exclaimed, scarcely waiting 
for the door to be closed behind him. “ What has hap- 
pened?” 

“Something terrible, M. Daniel.” 

“Tell me, pray, what? You frighten me.” 

“My father is going to marry again.” 

At first Daniel was amazed, then recalling the count’s 
attempts at rejuvenescence, he exclaimed : 

“ Oh, oh ! that explains everything.” 

But Henriette interrupted him, and in a half-stifled 
voice proceeded to repeat, almost word for word, the con- 
versation she had had with her father. 

“You have guessed right, mademoiselle, said Daniel, 
when she had finished. “ Your father evidently meant to 
propose a bargain to you.” 

“Ah, how horrible.” 

“ He wished you to understand that if you would consent 
to his marriage he would consent ” • 

Shocked at what he was going to add he paused ab- 
ruptly. 

But Henriette boldly finished the phrase. 

“To ours, you mean,” cried she, “to ours? Yes, so I 
understood it, and that was why I sent for you to advise 
me.” 

Poor fellow ! She asked him to seal his own fate. 

“I think you ought to consent,” he stammered. 

Trembling with indignation she rose and replied : 

“ Never, never !” 

Daniel was overcome by this sudden shock. Never ! 
He saw all his hopes shattered, his life’s happiness de- 
stroyed. Henriette lost to him forever. But the very im- 
minence of the danger restored his energy. Mastering his 
grief, he rejoined, with counterfeit calmness : 


40 


SERIOUS TROUBLE. 


“I beseech you to let me explain why I gave you this 
advice. Believe me, your father does not require your 
consent at all. You cannot act without his approval but 
he can marry without asking you for yours. No law 
authorizes children to oppose their parents’ follies. What 
your father wishes is your tacit approval ; the certainty 
that his new wife will be kindly received. If you refuse 
he will nevertheless pursue his course despite all your ob- 
jections.” 

“ Oh !” 

“ I am, unfortunately, only too sure of that. If he spoke 
to you of his plans you may be sure he had made up his 
mind. Your resistance will only lead to our separation. 

He might possibly forgive you ; but she Don’t you 

think she would avail herself of her influence over him — 
and might not her hatred have terrible consequences? 
She must be a dangerous woman, Henriette — a woman ca- 
pable of anything.” 

“Why?” 

He hesitated for a moment, scarcely daring to express 
his thoughts, but at last he replied, slowly, weighing 
every word : 

“ Because — because this marriage can, on her side, only 
fie a speculation. Your father is immensely wealthy ; she 
covets his fortune.” 

Daniel’s reasoning was so plausible, and he pleaded his 
cause with such eagerness, that Henriette ’s resolution was 
•evidently shaken. 

“ You want me to yield ?” she asked. 

“I beseech you to do so.” 

She shook her head sadly, and rejoined, in a tone of 
utter dejection : 

“Very well. It shall be as you desire. I will not oppose 
this profanation. But you may be sure my weakness will 
have no good result.” Then offering her hand to Daniel 
she added, “ I will see you again to-morrow evening. By 
that time I shall know the name of the woman my father 
is going to marry, for I shall ask him who she is, and will 
tell you.” 

She was spared the trouble of attacking the subject, for 
on the following morning the count’s first words were, 
“Well, have you thought it over?” 

She looked at him till he was constrained to glance 
aside, and then in a tone of resignation she replied : 

“Father, you are master here. I should not speak the 
truth if I said, the idea of a stranger coming here did not 


SEEKING INFORMATION. 


41 


make me suffer cruelly. But I will receive her with all 

due respect.” 

Ah ! the count was scarcely prepared for so speedy a 
consent. 

“Do not speak of respect,” he said. “Tell me that you 
will be bender, affectionate, and kind. Ah ! if you knew 
her, Henriette. She is an angel.” 

“ How old is she ?” 

“ Twenty-five.” The count read in his daughter’s eyes 
that she thought his new wife much too young for him, 
and therefore swiftly added, “Your mother was two years 
younger when I married her.” This was true, but he for- 
got that he himself was twenty years younger at the time. 
“However,” he continued, “you will see her; I shall ask 
her to let me present you to her. She is a foreigner, of 
excellent family, very rich, marvelously clever and beau- 
tiful, and her name is Sarah Brandon.” 

That evening, when Henriette told Daniel her future 
step-mother’s name he started with an air of despair, and 
exclaimed : 

“ Good heavens ! if Maxime de Brevan is not mistaken, 
that is worse than anything we could possibly anticipate.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

SEEKING INFORMATION. 

When Henriette saw how the young officer was over- 
come by the mere mention of that name, Sarah Brandon, 
she felt the blood freeze in her veins. She knew perfectly 
well that a man like Daniel was not likely to be so over- 
whelmed without good cause. 

“ Do you know the woman, Daniel ?” she asked. 

Regretting his want of self-possession, he was already 
thinking how he could remedy his imprudence. 

“ I swear to you,” he began. 

“Oh, don’t swear ! I see you know who she is.” 

“ I know nothing about her. ” 

“But—* — ” 

“ It is true I heard her spoken of once, a long time ago.” 

“ By whom ?” 

“ By one of my friends, Maxime de Brevan, a fine, noble 
fellow. ” 

“ What sort of woman is she ?” 

“ Ah, me ! I can’t tell you. Maxime happened to men- 
tion her in a casual way, and I never thought I should 


42 


SEEKING INFORMATION. 


hear of her again. If I seemed so greatly surprised just 
now it was because I remembered, all of a sudden, an 
ugly story in which Maxime said she had been involved, 
and then ” 

Daniel was no expert in the art of telling fibs, so- when 
he found that he was talking nonsense he turned his head 
away to avoid Henriette’s eyes. 

“Do you really think I am not strong enough to hear the 
truth ?” said she, interrupting him in a reproachful voice. 

At first he did not reply. Overcome by the strange po- 
sition in which he found himself, he sought for a means of 
escape, and found none. At last he said : 

“ You must give me time before I tell you any more. I 
know nothing positive, and I dare say I am unnecessarily 
alarmed. I will tell you everything as soon as I am bet- 
ter informed.” 

“When will that be?” 

“ This evening, if I can find Maxime de Brevan at home, 
as I hope to do ; if I miss him you must wait till to-mor- 
row.” 

“And if your suspicions prove correct, if what you fear, 
and now conceal from me, is a fact — what must I do 
then ?” 

Without a moment’s hesitation he answered, solemnly : 

“ I am not going to tell you again how I love you, Hen- 
riette ; I am not going to tell you that to lose you would be 
death to me, and that in our family we do not value life 
very highly ; you know that, don’t you? But, in spite of 
all that, if my fears should be well founded, as I appre- 
hend they are, I should not hesitate to say to you, what- 
ever might be the consequences, Henriette, and even if we 
had to part forever, that we must try our utmost, indeed 
employ all possible means in our power, to prevent your 
father from marrying Sarah Brandon.” 

In spite of her sufferings Henriette’s heart leaped with 
unspeakable happiness and joy. Ah ! he deserved to be 
loved — this man whom her heart had freely chosen — this 
man who gave her such an overwhelming proof of his de- 
votion. She offered him her hand, and with *her eyes 
beaming with enthusiasm and tenderness she said : 

“ And I — I swear by the sacred memory of my mother, 
that whatever may happen, and whatever force may be 
employed, I will never belong to any one but you.” 

Daniel had seized her hand, and held it for some time 
pressed to his lips. Then as rapture gave way to calmer 
thoughts he said : 


SEEKING INFORMATION. 


43 


“ I must leave you at once, Henriette, if I want to catch 
Maxime.” 

His head was in a whirl, his thoughts in a maze, as he 
left the house. His life and his happiness were at stake, 
and a single word would decide his fate despite himself. 

Hailing a passing cab he sprang quickly inside, shouting 
to the driver : 

“Quick, my good fellow, take me to No. 61 Rue Lafitte, 
and you shall have five francs.” 

This was Maxime de Brevan’s address. Daniel’s friend 
was a tall, light-haired, full-bearded man of thirty or 
thirty-five, with a bright eye and pleasing face. Associ- 
ating on intimate terms with the members of what is called 
“Parisian high life” — viveurs , whose only occupation is 
pleasure-seeking, he was very popular among them all. 
His rooms were simple and unpretentious ; he kept but a 
single servant ; his carriage was hired by the month. 
Maxime de Erevan and Daniel had become friends in the 
simplest possible way. They had been introduced to each 
other at a ball by a common friend, a lieutenant in the 
navy. They had left the entertainment together with the 
view of walking home in company, and as it was a fine, 
mild, moonlight night, they loitered a while on the Place 
de la Concorde smoking their cigars. Had Maxime really 
felt much sympathy for the young officer? Perhaps so. 
At all events Daniel had been irresistibly attracted by 
Maxime’ s peculiar ways, and especially by the cool stoi- 
cism with which he spoke of his genteel poverty. They 
had met several times again, and finally had become inti- 
mate. 

Brevan was just dressing for the opera when Daniel en- 
tered his room. As was his wont, he uttered a cry of de- 
light on perceiving his friend. 

“ What !” said he, “ the hermit student from the other 
side of the river in this worldly region, and at this hour. 
What good wind blows you over here ?” Then suddenly 
noticing Daniel’s terrified appearance, he added, “But 
what am I talking about? You look frightened out of 
your wits. What’s the matter ?” 

“A great misfortune, I fear,” replied Daniel. 

“ How so ? What is it ?” 

“ And I want you to help me.” 

“Don’t you know that I am at your service?” 

Daniel certainly thought so. 

“I thank you in advance, my dear Maxime,” said he, 


44 


SEEKING INFORMATION. 


“ but I don’t wish to give you too much trouble. I have a 
long story to tell, and you are just going out ” 

“ Oh, I was only going out for want of something better 
to do,” interrupted Brevan, with a shake of the head. 
“So sit down, and tell me everything.” 

The news that Henriette had imparted to him, and the 
fear of losing her forever, had so unnerved Daniel that he 
had hastened to his friend without reflecting what he 
ought to tell him. Now that the moment to speak was at 
hand he remained silent. The thought had just occurred 
to him that the Count de Ville-Handry’s secret was not 
his own, and that he ought if possible to avoid betraying 
it, even though he might rely upon his friend’s discretion. 
In stead of replying he therefore paced the room in an 
agonized state of mind, seeking for some plausible excuse 
to ask the question he had on his tongue. His irresolution 
lasted so long that Maxime, who had lately heard of sev- 
eral cases of brain disease, asked himself if Daniel could 
possibly have lost his mind. No, for suddenly the young 
officer stopped in front of his friend and exclaimed, in a 
short, sharp tone : 

“ First of all, Maxime, swear that you will never, under 
any circumstances, repeat to .any human being a word of 
what I am going to tell you.” 

Thoroughly mystified Brevan raised his hand. 

“ I pledge my word of honor, ” he replied. 

This promise seemed to reassure Daniel, who, when he 
thought he had regained sufficient self-possession, con- 
tinued : 

“A few months ago, my dear friend, I heard you telling 
somebody a horrible story concerning a certain Mme. 
Sarah Brandon ” 

“Mademoiselle, not madam, if you please.” 

“Well, it does not matter. You know her?” 

“Certainly. Everybody knows her.” 

Daniel did not notice the extreme self-conceit with which 
these words were uttered. 

“All right then,” said he. “Now, Maxime, I conjure 
you, by our friendship, tell me frankly what you think 
of her. What kind of a woman is this Sarah Brandon ?” 

The expression of his features, as well as his voice, 
evinced such extreme excitement that Brevan was per- 
fectly amazed. 

“But, my dear fellow, you ask me in a manner- ” 

“ I must know the truth, I tell you. It is of the utmost 
importance to me.” 


SEEKING INFORMATION. 


45 


Struck by a sudden thought Brevan clapped his hand to 
his forehead, and exclaimed : 

“ Oh, I see. You are in love with Sarah.” 

Daniel would never have thought of such a subterfuge 
in order to avoid mentioning the Count de Ville-Handry’s 
name, but as it was thus offered to him he determined to 
profit by the opportunity. 

“Well, yes, suppose it is so,” he said, with a sigh. 

Maxime raised his hands to heaven, and in a tone of 
painful conviction rejoined : 

“ In that case you are right. You ought to make in- 
quiries, for you may be close upon a terrible misfortune.” 

“ Ah, is she really so formidable ?” 

Maxime shrugged his shoulders as if he considered it 
ridiculous that he should be called upon to enunciate a 
well-known fact, and remarked : 

“I should think so.” 

There seemed to be no reason why Daniel should persist 
in his questions after that. These words ought to have 
proved sufficient. Nevertheless he continued, in a sub- 
dued voice : 

“ Pray explain yourself, Maxime. Don’t you know that 
as I lead a very quiet life I know nothing ?” 

Brevan assumed a more serious look than hitherto, and 
rising and leaning against the mantel-piece, replied : 

“What do you wish me to tell you ? It is only fools who 
bid lovers beware, and to warn a man who refuses to be 
warned is useless. Are you really in love with Sarah, or 
are you not ? If you are nothing that I could say would 
change your mind. Suppose I were to tell you that she is 
an abominable creature, an infamous forger, who has 
already on her conscience the death of three poor devils, 
who loved her just as you do ? Suppose I told you worse 
things than these, and could prove them ? Do you know 
what would happen ? You would press my hand with 
effusion. You would overwhelm me with thanks, with 
tears in your eyes. You would vow, in the candor of your 
heart, that you are forever cured, and when you left 
me ” 

“ Well ?” 

“ You would rush to your beloved, tell her all I have 
said, and beseech her to clear herself of these charges.” 

“ I beg your pardon ; I am not one of those men who ” 

But Brevan was growing more and more excited. 
p “Nonsense” said he, interrupting his friend. “You are 
a man like all other men. Passion does not reason, nor 


46 


SEEKING INFORMATION. 


calculate, and that is the secret of its strength. As long 
as we have a spark of common-sense left we are. not really 
in love. That is a fact, I tell you, and no will, no amount 
of energy, can alter it. There are people who tell you 
soberly that they have been in love without losing their 
senses, and who reproach you for not keeping cool. But 
that’s all bosh ! And now, my dear fellow, have the kind- 
ness to accept this cigar, and let us take a walk.” 

Was it really as Brevan said? Was it true that real 
love robs us of the faculty of reasoning, and of distinguish- 
ing truth from falsehood ? Did he not love Henriette truly, 
because he was on the point of giving her up for the sake 
of duty ? 

No, that could not be. Brevan had been speaking of 
another kind of love — a love neither pure nor chaste. He 
spoke of those passions which confound our senses and 
mislead our judgment, which are as destructive as fire, 
and leave nothing behind but disaster, disgrace, and re- 
morse. 

But all the more painful did Daniel’s thoughts become 
when he remembered that the Count de Ville-Handry was 
seized with one of these terrible passions for a worthless 
creature. He could not accept Maxime’s offer. 

u One word, I pray you,” he said. “Suppose I lose my 
free will, and surrender absolutely, what will become of 
me ?” 

Brevan looked at him with an air of pity, and replied : 

“ Not much will happen to you, only ” 

He paused, and then with mingled sternness and sar- 
casm he asked : 

“You ask me to predict your fate, eh? Well, let it be 
so. Have you a large fortune ?” 

“A few hundred thousand francs.” 

“Well, in six months they will be gone ; in a year you 
will be overwhelmed with debt, and at your wits’ end ; in 
less than a year and a half you will become a forger.” 

“ Maxime I” 

“Ah ! You ask me to tell you the truth. Then, as to 
your naval position. It is now excellent ; you have been 
promoted as rapidly as merit could claim, at least so 
everybody says. You might be an admiral one of these 
days. But in six months you will be nothing at all ; you 
will have resigned your commission, or you will have been 
dismissed.” 

“ Allow me ” 

“ No. You are an honest man, the most honorable man 


SEEKING INFORMATION. 


47 


I know ; but after six months’ acquaintance with Sarah 
Brandon you will have lost your self-respect so completely 
that you will have become a drunkard. There’s your por- 
trait. ‘It’s not a flattering one, ’ you will say. But you 
wanted to have it. And now let us go.” 

This time he was determined, and Daniel realized that 
he would not obtain another word from him unless he 
changed his tactics. Accordingly, just as Brevan opened 
the door, he said : 

“ Maxime, you must forgive me for a very innocent de- 
ception, which was suggested by your own words. It is 
not I who am in love with Miss Brandon.” 

“ Who is it, then ?” asked Brevan, in amazement. 

“One of my friends.” 

“What name?” 

“ I wish you would render the service I owe you doubly 
valuable by not asking me that question — at least not to- 
day.” 

Daniel spo^e with such an accent of sincerity that not a 
shadow of doubt remained on Maxime’s mind. It was not 
Daniel who had fallen in love with Sarah Brandon, that 
was certain ; still Brevan could not conceal his trouble, 
and his disappointment even, as he exclaimed : 

“Well done, Daniel ! Don’t tell me that you ingenuous 
people can’t deceive anybody.” 

However, he said nothing more about it, and while Dan- 
iel was repeating his apologies he quietly returned to the 
fireside and sat down. After a moment’s silence he began 
again : 

“ Let us assume, then, that it is one of your friends who 
is bewitched. ” 

“Yes.” 

“ And the matter is— serious ?” 

“ Alas ! He talks of marrying the woman.” 

Maxime shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and 
said : 

“As to that, console yourself. Sarah would never con- 
sent.” 

“But she herself has made the suggestion.” 

This time Maxime started and looked stupefied. 

“Then your friend must be very rich.” 

“He is immensely rich.” 

“ He bears a great name, and holds a high position ?” 

“His name is one of the oldest and noblest in the prov- 
ince of Anjou.” 

“And he is a very old man?” 


4.8 


SEEKING INFORMATION. 


“ He is sixty-five.” 

“Ah, she told me she would succeed,” exclaimed Bre- 
van, striking the marble slab of the mantel-piece with his 
fist, and with an indescribable accent of mingled admira- 
tion and hatred he added, in a lower tone, as if speaking 
to himself, “ What a woman ! Oh, what a woman !” 

Daniel, who was himself greatly excited, and far too 
busy with his own thoughts to observe whai; was going on, 
did not notice his friend’s agitation. 

“Now you will understand my great curiosity,” he con- 
tinued, quietly. “In order to prevent the scandal of such 
a marriage, my friend’s family would do anything in the 
world. But how can you attack a woman whose ante- 
cedents and mode of life are unknown ?” 

“Yes, I understand,” said Brevan, “ I understand.” The 
expression of his features showed that he was making a 
great mental effort. He remained for some time absorbed 
in thought, but at last, as if coming to a decision, he re- 
sumed, “No, I don’t see any way of preventing this mar- 
riage ; none at all.” 

“Still, from what you told me ” 

“What !” 

“About this woman’s cupidity ” 

“ Well ?” 

“ If she were offered a large sum, four or five hundred 
thousand francs?” 

Maxime laughed aloud. 

“You might offer a million francs,” said he, “and she 
would laugh at you as I’m doing. Do you think she would 
be fool enough to content herself with part of a fortune 
when she can have the whole, with a great name and a 
high position into the bargain?” 

Daniel opened his lips to present another suggestion, 
but Maxime, altogether laying aside his usual half -dreamy, 
mocking manner, continued, as if roused by a matter of 
great personal interest : 

“You do not understand me, my dear friend. Miss 
Brandon is not one of those vulgar hawks who in broad 
daylight seize upon a poor pigeon, pluck it, and cast it 
aside, bleeding, but still alive.” 

“ Then, Maxime, she must be ” 

“ Well, I tell you you misunderstand her. Miss Bran- 
don ” He paused, and looking at Daniel much as a 

judge examines a criminal’s features, he added, in an 
almost threatening voice, “By telling you what little I 
know about her, Daniel, I give you the highest proof of 


SEEKING INFORMATION. 


49 


confidence which one man can give to another. I esteem 
you too highly to exact a formal promise of discretion, but 
if you ever mention my name in connection with this 
affair, if you ever let any one suspect that you learned 
what I am going to tell you from me, you will dishonor 
yourself.” 

Daniel, who was deeply moved, seized his friend’s hand, 
and pressing it affectionately, replied : 

“ Ah, you know that Daniel Champcey is to be relied 
upon.” 

Maxime knew it, for he continued : 

“Miss Sarah Brandon is one of those cosmopolitan ad- 
venturesses, whom the railways nowadaj^s bring to Paris 
from the four quarters of the world. Like a great many 
others, she has come to our capital to spread her net, and 
catch her birds. However, she is more intelligent and 
ambitious than most of her kind ; and she possesses a real 
genius for intrigue. She means to have a fortune, and is 
not at all scrupulous as to the means she may employ to 
win it ; but she is also anxious to retain public respect. 
I should not be surprised if any one told me she was born 
within ten miles of Paris ; but she calls herself an Amer- 
ican. She certainly speaks English perfectly, and knows 
a great deal more of America than you know of Paris. I 
have heard her relate her family history to a large and 
attentive audience, but I won’t say I believed it. Accord- 
ing to her own account, Mr. Brandon, her father, a thor- 
oughbred Yankee, was a man of great enterprise and en- 
ergy, who during his life-time made his fortune and lost 
it, at least ten times in succession. Fortunately for her 
he happened to be wealthy when he died — leaving behind 
him, in fact, several million dollars. According to her 
account he was a banker and broker in New York, at the 
epoch when the civil war broke out. He entered the 
army, and in less than six months, thanks to his marvel- 
ous energy, he was created a general. When peace re- 
turned he was quite without occupation, and did not know 
what on earth to do with himself. Fortunately his good 
star led him to a region where large tracts of land were 
for sale. He purchased them for a few thousand dollars, 
and soon afterward discovered on his estate the most pro- 
ductive oil-wells iii all America. He was on the point of 
becoming another Peabody when he lost his life in a fear- 
ful accident, being burned to death in a fire that destroyed 
one of his establishments. As for her mother, Sarah says, 


50 


. SEEKING INFORMATION. 


she lost her when she was quite young, in a most roman- 
tic, though horrible manner.” 

“ What !” interrupted Daniel, “ has nobody taken the 
trouble to ascertain the truth of all these statements ?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know. But I certainly have met 
Americans who were acquainted with a broker Brandon, 
a Gen. Brandon, a petroleum Brandon.” 

“She may have borrowed the name.” 

“ Certainly, especially as the original man is said to 
have died in America. However, Miss Brandon has now 
been living for five years in Paris. She came here accom- 
panied by a Mrs. Brian, a relative of hers, who is the dry- 
est, boniest person you can imagine, but at the same time 
the slyest woman I ever met. In addition she brought 
with her a kind of protector, an Englishman, who is also 
a relative of hers, probably on her mother’s side. He is 
called Sir Thomas Elgin, and is altogether a most extraor- 
dinary character, as stiff as a poker, but evidently a dan- 
gerous man, never opening his mouth except to eat. He 
is a famous hand at small-swords, however, and at pistols 
he snuffs his candle nine times out of ten at a distance of 
thirty yards. This Elgin, whom people familiarly call 
“Sir Tom,” and Mrs. Brian, always reside with Miss Bran- 
don. When they first arrived they took up their quarters 
near the Champs Elysees, in a house which they fur- 
nished most sumptuously. Sir Tom, who is a capital judge 
of horseflesh, soon procured his ward a pair of gray 
horses, which created quite a sensation at the afternoon 
drive in the Bois — attracting every one’s attention to the 
fair occupant of the carriage they drew. Heaven knows 
how Sarah had managed to get hold of letters of introduc- 
tion. But two or three of the most influential members of 
the American colony here received her at their houses. 
After that everything was easy enough. She gradually 
crept into society, and now she is welcomed almost every- 
where, visiting not only the best people, but even certain 
families which have a reputation of being most exclusive. 
In fact, if she has enemies, she has fanatic partisans as 
well. Some folks may say she’s an adventuress ; but 
others — and by no means the least acute — assure you that 
she is an angel, only needing wings to fly away from this 
wicked world. They talk of her as a poor little orphan 
girl, whom people slander simply because they envy her 
youth, beauty, and wealth.” 

“Ah, so she’s rich?” 


SEEKING INFORMATION. 51 

“Miss Brandon spends at least a hundred thousand 
francs a year.” 

“ And no one inquires where they come from ?” 

“From her sainted father’s petroleum wells, my dear 
fellow. Petroleum explains everything.” 

Brevan seemed to take a kind of savage delight in wit- 
nessing Daniel’s despair, and in explaining to him how 
solidly and skillfully Sarah Brandon’s position in the 
world had been established. Had he any desire to pre- 
vent a struggle with her by exaggerating her strength ? 
Or rather, knowing Daniel as he did, was he trying to goad 
him into a contest with this formidable adversary ? At 
all events, he continued in that frigid tone which imparts 
additional bitterness to sarcasm : 

“ Besides, my dear Daniel, if you are ever introduced to 
Miss Brandon, and I pray you will believe me, people are 
not so easily introduced to her — you will at first be quite 
astonished by the prevailing tone of her household. The 
air is redolent with a perfume of hypocrisy which would 
delight the stiffest Quaker. Cant rules supreme there.” 

Daniel was evidently becoming utterly bewildered. 

“ But how, how can you reconcile that,” he asked, “with 
Miss Brandon’s thoroughly worldly life?” 

“ Oh, very easily, my dear fellow, and this is an addi- 
tional proof of her skill. To the outer world Miss Brandon 
is all levity, indiscretion, coquettishness, and even worse. 
She drives her own phaeton. She declares she has a right 
to do as she pleases, out-of-doors, according to the code 
which governs American young ladies. But at home she 
bows to the tastes and wishes of her relative, Mrs. Brian, 
who displays all the prudishness of an austere Puritan, 
The stiff Sir Tom is always at her side, and he never jokes. 
Oh, the three understand each other perfectly ; the parts 
are carefully distributed, and ” 

“There is no way, then, of getting at this woman?” 
asked Daniel, interrupting his friend. 

“ I think not.” 

“ But that adventure which you spoke of some time 
ago ?” 

“ Which one ? The affair with poor Kergrist ?” 

“How do I know? It was a fearful story, that’s all I 
remember. What did I, at that time, care for Miss Bran- * 
don ? Now, to be sure ” 

“ Now, you think that story might become a weapon in 
your hands ? No, Daniel. Still, it is not a very long one, 
and I can tell it to you now, in more detail than I could 


SEEKING INFOKMATION. 


52 

before. Some fifteen months ago a nice young fellow, 
called Charles de Kergrist, arrived in Paris. He had as 
yet lost none of his illusions, being barely five-and-twenty, 
and having something like half a million of francs of his 
own, to do as he liked with. Directly he saw Miss Brandon 
he ‘took fire,’ He fell desperately in love with her. What 
his relations were with her no one can positively say — I 
mean, with sufficient evidence to carry conviction to oth- 
ers — for the young man was a model of discretion. But 
some eight months afterward, when Miss Brandon’s neigh- 
bors opened their shutters one morning, they espied a 
corpse dangling a few feet above the ground, from the 
iron fastenings of the young lady’s window. Upon in- 
spection the dead man proved to be that unlucky fellow 
Kergrist. A letter was found in the pocket of his over- 
coat, in which he declared he committed suicide because 
an unrequited affection had made life unbearable. Now, 
this letter — mark the fact — was open ; that is to say it 
had been sealed, and the seal was broken.” 

“ By whom ?” 

“Let me finish. As you may imagine, the affair caused 
a great sensation. Kergrist’s family took the matter up ; 
there was an inquiry, and it was discovered that the half 
million francs which Kergrist had brought to Paris with 
him had utterly disappeared.” 

“ What ! and Miss Brandon did not lose her reputation?” 

“You know very well she didn’t,” replied Maxime, with 
an ironical smile. “ On the contrary, her partisans profit- 
ed by the occasion to praise her virtue and chastity. ‘ If 
she had been weak,’ they said, ‘Kergrist wouldn’t have 
hanged himself.’ Besides, they added, ‘how can a girl, be 
she ever so pure and innocent, prevent her lovers from 
hanging themselves at her window ?’ As fur the money, 
they said, it must have been lost at some gaming-table. 
Kergrist was reported to have been seen at Baden-Baden 
and Homburg, and, no doubt, he played there.” 

“And society was contented with such an explanation.” 

“Yes; why not? To be sure, some skeptical persons 
told the story very differently. According to their ac- 
count, Sarah had been Kergrist’s mistress, and had sent 
him off about his business as soon as she had eased him of 
his coin. They declared that on the evening before his 
death he had called on her at the usual hour, and was re- 
fused admittance, whereupon he begged, and wept, and 
finally threatened to kill himself. Like a fool he really 
did so, and Miss Brandon, stationing herself behind the 


SEEKING- INFORMATION. 


S3 


blinds, watched all his preparations, saw him fasten the 
rope to the outside hinges of her window, slip the noose 
round his neck, and swing himself off into eternity, watch- 
ing him closely during his agony, and remaining there till 
the last convulsions were over.’' 

u Horrible !” whispered Daniel, “ too horrible !” 

But Maxime seized him by the arm, and in a low, hoarse 
voice, continued : 

“Ay, that is what some people said, and there is still 
worse to come. As soon as she saw that Kergrist was 
dead she slipped down stairs like a cat, stealthily opened 
the house door, and gliding along the wall till she reached 
the body, actually searched the still quivering corpse to 
make sure there was nothing in the pockets that could 
possibly compromise her. Finding Kergrist’s last letter, 
she took it away with her, broke the seal, and read it, and 
having ascertained that her name was not mentioned in it 
she had the amazing audacity to return to the body, and 
to put the letter back into the pocket. Then she breathed 
freely. She had got rid of a man she feared. She went 
to bed, and slept soundly.” 

u The woman’s a monster !” exclaimed Daniel, who had 
become livid. 

Brevan made no rejoinder ; his eyes were gleaming 
with intense hatred ; his lips quivering with indignation. 
He no longer thought of discretion, or caution, but gave 
himself up entirely to his feelings. 

“ I have not done yet, Daniel,” he said, after a pause. 
“There is another crime on record, dating from Miss 
Brandon’s first appearance in Parisian society. You 
ought to know about that as well. One evening, four 
years ago, the manager of the Mutual Discount Society 
came into the cashier’s room to tell him that on the follow- 
ing day the board of directors would examine his books. 
The cashier, an unfortunate man named Malgat, replied 
that everything was ready, but the moment the manager 
turned his back he, took a sheet of paper, and wrote some- 
thing to this effect : ‘Forgive me. I have been an honest 
man for forty years, but a fatal passion has driven me 
mad. I have abstracted from the bank money that was 
intrusted to my care, and in order to conceal my defalca- 
tions I have forged several entries. I cannot conceal my 
crime any longer. The first defalcation occurred only six 
months ago. The entire deficiency amounts to about four 
hundred thousand francs. I cannot survive my disgrace; 
in an hour I shall have ceased to live. ’ Malgat laid this 


54 


SEEKING INFORMATION. 


letter in a prominent position on his desk, and then rushed 
out, without a sou in his pocket, to go and throw himself 
into the canal. But when he reached the margin, and saw 
the foul, black water, he grew frightened. For hours and 
hours he walked up and down, madly asking God to give 
him courage. If he did not kill himself what was he to 
do ? He could not fly, for he had no money. Where could 
he hide ? He could not return to the bank, for by this 
time his crime must have become known there. In his 
distress he ran as far as the Champs Elysees, and late at 
night he knocked at the door of Miss Brandon’s house. 
She and the others did not as yet know what had hap- 
pened, so that he was admitted. Then, in his wild despair, 
he told them everything, begging them to give him merely 
a couple of hundreds out of the four hundred thousand 
francs he had stolen to give to Miss Brandon — a hundred 
only, to enable him to escape to Belgium. They refused' 
And when he begged and prayed, falling on his knees to 
Sarah, Sir Tom seized him by the shoulders, and turned 
him out of the house.” 

Overcome by his intense excitement Maxime at this mo- 
ment fell into an easy-chair, where he remained some 
time, with eyes fixed and clouded brow, repenting, per- 
haps, of his frankness and forgetfulness of ties that bound 
him to others. However, when he arose again, his rare 
strength of will had enabled him to reassume his usual 
phlegmatic manner ; and he continued, in a mocking tone : 

“ I see from your looks, Daniel, that you think the story 
monstrous, improbable, and almost impossible. Never- 
theless, four years ago it was believed in many parts of 
Paris, and embellished by a number of hideous details 
which I will spare you. If you care to refer to the papers 
of that year you will find it related by them all. But four 
years are four centuries in Paris. To say nothing of the 
many similar occurrences that have happened since.” 

Daniel bowed his head sadly. He felt a kind of painful 
emotion, such as he had never before experienced in his 
life. 

“It is not so much the story itself that overcomes me,” 
said he at last; “what I can’t understand is, how this 
woman could have refused the beggarly pittance Mai gat 
required in order to evade justice, and escape to Belgium.” 

“Nevertheless, it was so,” repeated M. de Brevan, and 
he swiftly added, “at least people say so.” 

Daniel did not notice this cautious correction, but pen- 
sively continued : 


SEEKING INFORMATION. 


55 


“ Supposing the thing were true, would not Miss Bran- 
don have been afraid of exasperating the unfortunate cash- 
ier, and of driving him to some desperate resolution ? In 
his rage he might have left the house, hurried to the office 
of a commissary of police, and confessed everything, lay- 
ing all the evidence he possessed before a magistrate.” 

“That is precisely what the fair American’s advocate 
said at the time,” interrupted Erevan, with a sardonic 
laugh. “But I tell you her peculiarity is exactly the dar- 
ing manner in which she ventures upon the most danger- 
ous steps. She does not pretend to avoid difficulties ; she 
crushes them. Her prudence consists in carrying impru- 
dence to its farthest limits.” 

“ But ” 

“ Besides you ought to credit her with sufficient astute- 
ness and experience to know she had taken the most care- 
ful precautions, destroying all proof of her own complic- 
ity, and feeling quite safe in that direction. Moreover, 
she had studied Malgat’s character just as she studied 
Kergrist’s. Consequently she was quite sure that neither 
of them would accuse her, even at the moment of death. 
And yet, in the case of this Mutual Discount Society, her 
calculations did not prove absolutely correct.” 

“ How so?” 

“Well, it became known that she had received Malgat 
two or three times secretly, for he did not openly enter 
her house, and papers hinted that ‘ the fair foreigner was 
no stranger to small peculations.’ Public opinion was 
veering round, when it was reported she had been sum- 
moned to appear before a magistrate. This proved, how- 
ever, a fortunate occurrence for her, for she came out of 
the investigation whiter and purer than Alpine snow.” 

“Oh!” 

“ And so perfectly cleared that when the whole matter 
was brought into court she was not even summoned as a 
witness.” 

“ What !” exclaimed Daniel, starting to his feet, “ Malgat 
submitted to the agony of trial, and the infamy of condem- 
nation, without allowing a word to escape ?” 

“ No. It was by default that he was sentenced to ten 
years’ confinement.” 

“ And what has become of the poor devil ?” 

“Who knows ? They say he killed himself. Two months 
later a body, in an advanced state of decomposition, was 
found in the forest of Saint Germain, and people declared 
it was Malgat’s.” As he spoke a cloud passed over Bre- 


56 


SEEKING INFORMATION. 


van’s brow, and it was in a lower tone and with some hes- 
itation that he continued : “Somebody who used to be inti- 
mate with Malgat has told me, however, that he met him 
one day not long ago in front of the great auction mart in 
the Rue Drout. This man declares he recognized Malgat, 
although he was most artistically disguised, and for this 
reason I have thought more than once that a day may yet 
come after all when Miss Sarah will have a terrible ac- 
count to settle with her implacable creditor.” 

He passed his hand across his brow as if to drive away 
such a thought, and then, with a forced laugh, he added : 

“ Now, my dear fellow, I have reached the end of my 
story. The particulars I have given you were all imparted 
to me by Miss Sarah’s friends as well as by her enemies. 
Some of them may be found in the old newspapers, but I 
have learned a great deal by my own long and patient ob- 
servation. And if you ask me what interest I could have 
in knowing such a woman, I would tell you frankly, my 
dear Daniel, that I also was once in love with her. But I 
was too small a personage, and too poor a devil, for Miss 
Brandon to take any interest in me. As soon as she per- 
ceived that her abominable coquetry had set my head on 
fire, and that I had become an idiot, a madman, a fool — 
on that very day she laughed in my face. Ah ! I tell you 
she played with me at first, as if I had been a child, and 
then sent me off as if I had been a lackey. And now I 
hate her as intensely as I loved her ; so if I can help you 
in secret without it becoming known you may count upon 
me.” 

Why should Daniel have doubted the veracity of his 
friend’s statement? Had not Maxime voluntarily con- 
fessed his folly, his love for this adventuress, thus antici- 
pating all questions, and making a clean breast of the 
whole matter? Thus, far from calling any of his friend’s 
assertions into question, Champcey thanked providence for 
having sent him such an ally, such a friend, who had lived 
long enough in Parisian society to know all the scandal- 
ous intrigues broached under cover of apparent integrity. 
Taking Maxime by the hand, he exclaimed, in a tone of 
deep feeling : 

“Now, my friend, we are bound to each other for life.” 

Brevan seemed greatly touched, and raised his hand as 
if to wipe a tear from his eyes. But he was not a man to 
give way to sentiment. 

“Well, how about your friend?” he asked. il How can 
we prevent his marrying Sarah ? Does any plan occur to 


ft WE ARE LOST !’ 


57 


you? No? Ah! you see, it will be hard work.” For a 
few minutes he remained in apparent meditation, then 
speaking slowly and with marked emphasis, as if to give 
additional weight to his words and impress them forcibly 
on Daniel’s mind, he resumed We must attack Miss 
Brandon herself if we wish to master the situation. If 
we could only find out who she really is, and where she 
really comes from, the game would be ours. Fortunately, 
skillful spies can easily be found in Paris, and work well, 
providing they are handsomely paid.” As the clock on the 
mantel-piece struck half-past ten he started and stopped. 
Then springing to his feet as if suddenly inspired by a 
bright idea, he hurriedly exclaimed : “ But now I think of 
it, Daniel, you don’t know Miss Brandon ; you have never 
even seen her.” 

“ No, indeed !” 

u Well, that’s a pity. We must at least know our ene- 
mies if we are to contend against them. I want you to see 
Miss Sarah.” 

“ But who can point her out to me ? where ? when ?” 

“I will do so to-night, at the opera. I can bet she will 
be there.” 

Daniel had assumed evening dress before calling upon 
Henriette, so that there was nothing to prevent him from 
accepting his friend’s proposal. A moment later they were 
both in the street, and reached the theater just as the cur- 
tain rose on the fourth act of “ Don Giovanni.” They were 
fortunately able to secure two stalls. The performance 
was splendid, but what did they care for the singers on 
the boards, or for Mozart’s divine music ! Brevan raised 
his opera-glass to his eyes, and rapidly surveying the 
house soon found what he was looking for. Nudging 
Daniel with his elbow, he whispered in his ear : 

“See, there, in the third box from the stage on the grand 
tier, look, there she is !” 


CHAPTER V. 

“we are lost!” 

Daniel looked up, and in the box which Maxime had in- 
dicated he perceived a young woman of such rare and daz- 
zling beauty that he could hardly restrain a cry of admira- 
tion. She was leaning forward, resting one arm on the 
velvet cushion of the bo!x, listening attentively to the 
music. At last the curtain fell. Several spectators left 


58 


“WE ARE LOST!’ 


the house ; others simply rose to look, round them, but 
Maxime and Daniel retained their seats. They were giv- 
ing their whole attention to Miss Brandon’s box, when 
they suddenly perceived the door open to admit a gentle- 
man who, at their distance off, looked like a very young 
man. His complexion was exceedingly brilliant, his beard 
jet black, and his curly hair most carefully arranged. He 
had his opera-hat under his arm, a camellia in his button- 
hole, and his straw-colored kid gloves were so tight that it 
looked as if they must inevitably burst the instant he 
used his hands. 

“The Count de Ville-Handry !” said Daniel to himself. 

“ Your old friend, eh !” exclaimed Maxime, bending over 
and touching the young officer’s arm; “Miss Brandon’s 
happy lover ?” 

“Yes, you’re right, I must confess it,” replied Champ- 
cey, who was on the point of explaining why he had not 
mentioned the count’s name, when M. de Brevan spoke 
again : 

“Just look, Daniel; just look.” 

The count had taken a seat in the front part of the box, 
by Miss Brandon’s side, and was talking to her with stud- 
ied affectation, bending forward, gesticulating:, and laugh- 
ing till he showed every one of the long yellow teeth that 
were left him. He was evidently on exhibition, and de- 
sired to be seen by every one. Suddenly, however, after 
Miss Brandon had said a few words to him, he rose and 
left the box. The stage bell was ringing, and the curtain 
was about to rise again. 

“Let us go,” said Daniel to M. de Brevan ; “I am suffer- 
ing.” 

The idea that Henriette’s father should be seen in pub- 
lic conducting himself so ridiculously mortified him be- 
yond description. And he no longer entertained any 
doubts concerning Miss Brandon’s evil intentions ; he had 
clearly marked how she spurred the old man on, and 
fanned his feeble flame. 

The two friends had just left the theater, and were turn- 
ing toward the boulevards, when they came face to face 
with a gentleman wearing' a furred pelisse, behind whom 
walked a servant laden with an armful of magnificent 
cut roses. The first comer was the Count de Ville-Han- 
dry, who, on suddenly finding Daniel before him, evinced 
considerable embarrassment. 

“What, is it you ?” he asked, after a pause. “Where on 
earth do you come from ?” 


“WE AEE LOST !” 


59 


“From the opera.” 

“ And you run away before the fifth act ? That is a 
crime against the majesty of Mozart. Come, go back with 
me, and I promise you a pleasant surprise.” 

“Go,” whispered Brevan in his friend’s ear ; “that’s the 
very opportunity I was wishing for.” 

And with these words he raised his hat and went his 
way. 

Daniel, taken rather by surprise, thereupon accompa- 
nied the count, who, approaching the carriages which were 
waiting for the wealthier spectators at the opera, halted 
in front of a capacious landau — open, despite the cold 
weather, and guarded by a coachman and two footmen in 
gorgeous livery. On perceiving the count they all three 
uncovered respectfully, but without taking any notice of 
them he turned to the porter carrying the flowers, and 
exclaimed : 

“Scatter those roses in this carriage.” 

The man hesitated. He was the servant of a famous flor- 
ist, and had often seen people pay ten and fifteen napole- 
ons for a bouquet, but he considered this too much of a 
joke. However, as the count insisted, he at last did as 
he was bid, receiving a handsome fee for his trouble. 

M. de Ville-Handry then returned to the opera-house, 
Daniel following him, filled with amazement. Love had 
evidently made the count forget his years, and lent re- 
newed youth to his jaded limbs. He bounded up the steps 
of the grand staircase, and in a few seconds reached Miss 
Brandon’s box. Taking Daniel by the hand, and drawing 
him toward the American belle, he exclaimed : 

“ Allow me to present to you M. Daniel Champcey, one 
of our most distinguished naval officers.” 

Daniel bowed first to Sarah, and then to Mrs. Brian, and 
long, stiff Sir Tom. 

“I need not tell you, my dear count,” said Sarah, “that 
your friends are always welcome here.” And turning to 
Daniel she added, “Besides I may say I have known you 
for some time already.” 

“Me, mademoiselle?” 

“ Yes, monsieur. And I even know that you are a most 
frequent visitor at Count de Ville-Handry’s house.” She 
looked at Daniel with an air of malicious simplicity, and 
continued, “ I don’t mean to say that your visits are en- 
tirely due to your friendship for the count. I have heard 
something of a certain young lady ” 


60 


“WE AKE LOST !” 


“Sarah,” interrupted Mrs. Brian, “what you are saying 
is highly improper.” 

This reproof, far from checking Miss Brandon’s merri- 
ment, only seemed to increase it. Without losing sight 
of Daniel she turned to her aunt, and replied : 

“Since the count is not opposed to this gentleman pay- 
ing his attentions to his daughter, I think I may safely 
speak of them. It would be really too extraordinary if 
anything happened to interfere with his hopes.” 

Daniel, who had blushed scarlet a moment before, sud- 
den^ turned deadly pale. After all he had been told, 
these words sounded to him in spite of the laugh that ac- 
companied them, like a warning and a threat. But he 
was not allowed time to reflect. The performance was 
coming to a close, and Miss Brandon was now drawing a fur 
cloak over her shoulders. She left the box on the count’s 
arm, while Daniel escorted Mrs. Brian, being closely fol- 
lowed by tall, stiff Sir Tom. The landau was at the door. 
The servants had let down the steps, and Miss Brandon 
prepared to get in ; but as her foot touched the bottom of 
che carriage she drew back, half frightened, and ex- 
claimed : 

“ What’s that ? What can be there ?’ r 

The count advanced, looking somewhat embarrassed. 

“You are fond of roses,” he said, “and I have ventured 
to order a few. ” 

So saying he took up some of the leaves and showed 
them to her. 

“You certainly are bent upon making me angry,” replied 
Miss Brandon, whose fright had almost turned to wrath. 

“ You want every one to say that I urge you to commit 
all kinds of follies. What a glorious thing for a million- 
aire to waste a dozen napoleons on flowers.” Then per- 
ceiving by the light of the street lamp that the count’s 
face evinced deep disappointment, she added, in a tone 
calculated to make him lose his little remaining reason, 
“Your attention would have been more welcome if you 
had brought me a sou’s worth of violets.” 

In the meantime Mrs. Brian had taken her seat by Miss 
Brandon’s side ; Sir Tom also had installed himself in the 
carriage; and it was now the count’s turn. Just as one 
of the footmen was about to close the door Sarah bent for- 
ward toward Daniel, and said : 

“ I hope I shall have the pleasure of soon seeing you 
again. Our dear count will give you my address, and 


“WE ARE LOST !” 


61 


tell you my reception days. I must tell you that we Amer- 
ican girls dote upon naval office rs, and that I ” 

The remainder was lost in the noise of the rolling wheels, 
and the carriage was already some distance ofr before Dan- 
iel could recover from his amazement. All these strange 
events, occurring successively in the course of a few hours, 
and breaking suddenly upon so calm and quiet a life, had 
so unnerved him, that he was not quite sure whether he 
was awake or dreaming. Alas ! he was not dreaming. 
This beautiful Miss Brandon, who had just driven away, 
was only too real, and there, on the muddy pavement, a 
handful of rose leaves testified to the power of her charms, 
and the folly of her aged lover. 

“ Ah, we are lost !” exclaimed Daniel, in so loud a voice 
that several passers-by stopped, expecting one of those 
street dramas which the halfpenny papers describe in 
such effusive style. 

They were disappointed, however. For noticing that he 
attracted attention Daniel shrugged his shoulders, and 
walked quickly off toward the boulevards. He had prom- 
ised Henriette to tell her that very evening, if possible, 
what he had found out, but it was too late now, for mid- 
night was striking. 

“ I’ll go to-morrow,” he said to himself. 

While strolling leisurely down the boulevards, still bril- 
liantly illuminated and crowded with people, he endeav- 
ored to examine the situation with all requisite calmness. 
He had at first imagined that he would merely have to 
contend against one of these common intriguantes who 
only wished to secure a competency for their old age, and 
clumsily spread their nets in hopes of catching a victim — 
lower-class adventuresses who may more or less easily be 
got rid of by the payment of a sum of money. Had Sarah 
Brandon been such a woman he would still have had some 
hope ; but no, she was a far more formidable character. 
He realized now that Maxime de Brevan had told him the 
truth. How could he hope to compete with such a woman ? 
and with what weapons could he attack her ? How could 
she be reached ? Was it not pure folly to think even of 
making her abandon her designs on the magnificent for- 
tune which she evidently looked upon as her own already, 
enjoying, as it were, its sweets in anticipation. 

u Oh, for an inspiration !” murmured Daniel, but none 
came, and he tortured his mind in vain. 

On reaching home he went to bed as usual, but the con- 
sciousness of his misfortunes prevented him from sleep- 


62 


“WE ARE LOST !’ 


ing. Indeed, he did not close his eyes all night. Never- 
theless, at nine A. M. he was up and dressed, and about 
to go out, when some one knocked at his door. The vis- 
itor proved to be M. de Brevan, who came to inquire what 
had occurred after their separation on the previous night. 

“ Well ?” asked he. 

“Ah !” replied Daniel, “I think the wisest plan would be 
to give it up.” 

“ Upon my word, you are in a great hurry to surren- 
der.” 

“ And what would you do in my place, eh? That wo- 
man has beauty enough to drive any one mad, and the 
count is a lost man.” And before Maxime had time to 
make any rejoinder Daniel told him simply and frankly 
all about his love for Henriette, the hopes he had been en- 
couraged to cherish, and the dangers that threatened his 
happiness in life. “ For I can no longer deceive myself, 
Maxime,” he concluded, with a tone of utter despair ; “I 
can foresee what will happen. Henriette will do every- 
thing in her power to prevent her father from marrying 
Miss Brandon ; she will struggle on to the bitter end at 
any risk. Ought I to help her ? Certainly I ought, but 
can we succeed ? No ! we shall only transform Miss Bran- 
don into a mortal enemy, and on the morning after her 
wedding her first thought will be how to avenge herself, 
and how to separate Henriette and myself forever.” 

Little as Brevan was generally given to sentiment he 
was evidently deeply touched by his friend’s despair. 

“In short, my dear fellow,” he said, “you have reached . 
the point at which one no longer knows what to do. All 
the more reason, then, for you to listen to a friend’s ad- 
vice. You must have yourself introduced at Miss Bran- 
don’s house.” 

“She invited me herself last night.” 

“Well, then, don’t hesitate, but go as soon as you can.” 

“What for?” 

“Not for much. But just pay Miss Brandon some com- 
pliments, be all attention to Mrs. Brian, and try to win 
over Sir Thomas Elgin. Finally, and above everything, 
be all ears and eyes.” 

“I am sorry to say I do not understand you yet.” 

“ What ? Cannot you realize that the position of these 
daring adventurers, however secure it appears, may, after 
all, hang on a single thread, and that nothing but an op- 
portunity may be wanting to sever that thread ? When 


THE COUNT’S RECITAL. 


63 


anything and everything may happen at any moment 
what can one do but wait and watch ?” 

Daniel did not seem convinced. 

“ Miss Brandon will, no doubt, talk to me about her mar 
riage,” he rejoined. 

“Certainly she will.” 

“ What can I say ?” 

“Nothing — neither yes nor no — but smile, or run away ; 
at all events, gain t 4 me.” 

At this moment Maxime was interrupted by DaniePs 
servant, who, entering the room with a card in his hand, 
informed his master that there was a gentleman in a car- 
riage down stairs who wished to know if M. Champcey 
could be seen. 

“What is his name?” asked Daniel. 

“The Count de Ville-Handry. Here is his card.” 

“Quick!” rejoined Daniel; “ask him to kindly walk 
up.” 

M. de Brevan had started from his seat, and was stand- 
ing, with his hat on, near the door. As the servant left he 
said : 

“I’m off.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because the count must not find me here. You would 
be compelled to introduce me to him ; he might remember 
my name, and if he were to tell Sarah that I’m your 
friend everything would be lost. ” Whereupon he turned 
to go, but at the same moment the outer door was opened, 
and he added, “There’s the count ! I’m caught.” 

But Daniel promptly opened his bedroom door, and 
pushed Maxime into his sleeping apartments. It was high 
time, for at the same moment the count entered. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE COUNT’S RECITAL. 

M. de Ville-Handry must have risen early that day. 
Although it was not yet ten o’clock he was already brill- 
iant, rouged, dyed, and frizzed. A result which it had 
naturally taken some hours to achieve. As he entered he 
drew a long breath, and exclaimed : 

“Ah ! You live pretty high up, my dear Daniel.” 

For the moment he forgot that he was playing the young 
man, but speedily correcting himself, he added, vivac- 
iously : 


64 


THE COUNT’S RECITAL. 


“ Not that I corhplain of it ; oh, dear, no. A few stories 
to climb — what is that to me ?” 

At the same time he stretched out his leg, and caressed 
his calf, as if to exhibit its vigor and suppleness, while 
Daniel, full of respect for his future father-in-law, drew 
forward his easiest arm-chair. The count Sat down, and 
seeking to hide such embarrassment, as he may have felt, 
by an apparent airiness of manner, continued : 

“I am sure, my dear Daniel, you must be much surprised 
and puzzled to see me here ; are you not ?” 

“ I confess I am, sir. If you wished to speak to me you 
had only to drop me a line, and I would have waited upon 
you at once.” 

“ I am sure you would. But it was not necessary, for, 
in fact, I have nothing to say to you. I shouldn’t have 
come to see you if I hadn’t missed an appointment. I 
was to meet one of my fellow-members of the Corps Legis- 
latif, but he did not come to' the rendezvous. On my way 
home, I happened to pass your house, and said to myself, 
‘Why not go up and see my sailor friend? I might ask 
him what he thinks of a certain young lady to whom he 
had the honor of being presented last night. ’ ” 

Now or never was the favorable moment for following 
Maxime’s advice, hence Daniel, instead of replying, sim- 
ply smiled as pleasantly as he could. 

But this did not satisfy the count, who repeated his ques- 
tion more directly. 

“ Come, tell us frankly, what do you think of Miss Bran- 
don ?” 

“ She is one of the greatest beauties I have ever seen in 
my life. ” 

The Count de Ville-Handry’s eyes beamed with delighted 
pride as he heard these words. 

“Say she is the greatest beauty, the most marvelous 
beauty, you ever saw,” he exclaimed. “And to think it 
was by pure chance that I ever met her. You know, my 
friend, how deeply I was affected by the death of the 
Countess de Ville-Handry. It so completely upset me 
that I lost all taste for the avocations which had so far 
been dear to me, and set about, looking for occupation else- 
where. Soon after, when I got into the habit of-going fre- 
quently to my club, I fell in with Sir Thomas Elgin. Sir 
Tom, as they call him, is an excellent horseman, and used 
to ride every morning in the Bois. I had also been recom- 
mended to take similar exercise, and the result was that 
we frequently met in the Avenue des Poteaux. One morn- 


THE COUNT’S RECITAL. 


65 


ing while we were returning from a ride Sir Tom’s mare, 
a vicious brute, suddenly shied, and with such effect that 
despite his horsemanship he was thrown. I alighted in- 
stantly, with the view of assisting him to remount, but he 
could not rise. There was no one at hand, and I was feel- 
ing seriously embarrassed, when two soldiers fortunately 
came up. One of them procured a cab, and we took Sir 
Tom home. He was suffering badly, and groaned a good 
deal. We had great difficulty in removing him from the 
vehicle, and getting him up stairs. I was walking ahead, 
and had*just reached the second floor, when a door sud- 
denly opened, and a young girl appeared on the threshold. 
The noise on the stairs had startled her, and she had has- 
tened out of her room, only partially dressed. Scarcely 
had she perceived Sir Tom in the servants’ arms than — 
imagining, no doubt, that he was seriously wounded, or 
perhaps even worse — she turned as pale as death and fell 
forward. She would have been precipitated headforemost 
down the stairs if I had not fortunately caught her in my 
arms. She had fainted, and for a moment I held her lean- 
ing on my shoulder, and feeling her heart beat — almost 
imperceptibly — against mine. All this scarcely lasted a 
minute, for on recovering her senses, and finding herself 
in a man’s arms, she looked extremely distressed, and 
slipped away into her room. Never in my life had I ex- 
perienced such a sensation as that which seized hold of 
me while Miss Brandon was reclining in my arms. After 
once seeing her I was seized with a longing to see her 
again. Fortunately I had a convenient pretext for call- 
ing, and, in fact, the very next day I was art her door 
again, inquiring after Sir Thomas Elgin. I was shown 
into his room, and found him reclining on an invalid’s 
chair, with his leg bandaged. Beside him sat an elderly 
lady, to whom I was introduced, and who was none other 
than Mrs. Brian. They received me most politely, but not 
without some reserve, and although I staid longer than is 
ordinary under such circumstances I did not see a sign of 
Miss Sarah. She was equally invisible on subsequent 
occasions, and I positively came to the conclusion that she 
purposely avoided me. However, one day, Sir Tom, who 
was rapidly improving, expressed a desire to take a short 
turn in the Champs Elysees. I offered him my arm, which 
he accepted, and as we were returning he asked me if I 
would be kind enough to take pot-luck with him.” 

However important this information might be for Dan- 
iel, he had for some time been lending an inattentive ear 


66 


THE COUNT’S RECITAL. 


to the count’s story, for he had fancied he heard a strange, 
faint noise, which he could not account for. At last on 
looking round he divined the cause. His bedroom door, 
which he had carefully closed after pushing M. de Brevan 
into the inner apartment, was now ajar. No doubt, Max- 
ime, tired of confinement and excited by curiosity, had 
opened it so as to listen to M. de Ville-Handry’s narrative. 

The count, however, was still quite ignorant of M. de 
Brevan’ s presence. 

“So,” said he, “I was to see Miss Brandon again. We 
soon became friends. Need I tell you after that that I 
soon became a constant visitor at the house in the Rue du 
Cirque ? But what I must tell you is that I found there 
the most perfect and purest happiness I have ever known 
upon earth. The feelings which attracted me toward Miss 
Brandon were the same that bound me to my daughter. 
But as I am a shrewd observer, and have some knowledge 
of the human heart, I could not help being struck by a 
change in Miss Brandon’s features, and especially in her 
manner. After treating me with the greatest freedom and 
familiarity she suddenly became reserved, and almost 
cold. It was evident to me that she was embarrassed in 
my presence. Our constant intercourse, far from uniting 
us more closely, seemed to frighten her. You may guess 
how I interpreted this change, my dear Daniel. But as I 
have never been a conceited man, I thought I might be 
mistaken. I watched her carefully, and soon realized that 
if on my side I only loved Miss Brandon with a fatherly 
affection I had yet succeeded in inspiring her with a more 
tender sentiment. I did not for a moment think of abus- 
ing the confidence of this innocent child, and yet I knew, 
I felt, she was absolutely in my power. But no. It would 
have been infamous for me to repay excellent Mrs. Brian’s 
hospitality, and noble Sir Tom’s kindness, with such in- 
gratitude. On the other hand, must I necessarily deny 
myself those pleasant visits to the house in the Rue du 
Cirque, and break with friends who were so dear to me ? 
I thought of that as well ; but I had not the courage to do 
so. Then the idea of marrying her occurred to me. 
Accordingly, having firmly made up my mind, I 
went to Sir Thomas Elgin to acquaint him with my inten- 
tions. I cannot describe to you his amazement. ‘You are 
joking,’ he said at firsthand that grieves me deeply.’ 
But when he saw that I had never spoken more seriously 
in my life he, usually so phlegmatic, became perfectly 
furious, and I fell from the clouds when he told me out- 


THE COUNT’S RECITAL. 


67 


right that he meant to do all he could to prevent such a 
match. I had to use all my skill to make him change his 
mind. All I could obtain from him, after more than two 
hours’ discussion, was a promise that he would remain 
neutral, and would leave Mrs. Brian the responsibility of 
refusing or accepting my offer. So I went to Mrs. Brian. 
Ah ! she did not mince matters. At the first word she 
called me an old fool, and plainly told me that I must 
never show myself in the Rue du Cirque again. I insisted, 
but in vain. She would not even listen to me, the old 
Puritan ; and when I became pressing, she dropped me a 
solemn courtesy, and left me alone in the room, looking 
foolish enough, I am sure. For the time I could only re- 
tire, and I did so, hoping that her interview with her niece 
might induce her to change her mind. Not at all, how- 
ever, for when I called at the house the next day the serv- 
ants said that Sir Tom was out, and that Mrs. Brian and 
Miss Brandon had just left for Fontainebleau. The day 
after, the same result ; and so on for a whole week. I 
was growing more and more restless, when one morning a 
commissioner brought me a letter. It was Miss Brandon 
who wrote. She asked me to be in the Bois de Boulogne, 
near the cascade, at four o’clock that very afternoon, add- 
ing that she was going out riding with Sir Tom, and would 
find a means to escape from him and meet me. As a mat- 
ter of course I was punctual, and a few minutes after my 
arrival I perceived her riding toward me at full speed. 
She had scarcely reached my side than she exclaimed, 
‘They are watching me so jealously that I could not write 
to you till to-day. I am deeply wounded by this want of 
confidence, and cannot endure it any longer. Here I am, 
carry me off, let us go !’ Never, Daniel, never have I seen 
her look more marvelously beautiful than she looked at 
that moment. Sne was flushed with excitement and the 
rapid ride ; her eyes shone with courage and passion, and 
her lips trembled. ‘I know I am ruining myself,’ she con- 
tinued, ‘ and you as well — you will probably despise me. 
But never mind. Let us be gone !’ To hear a beautiful 
woman tell you that ! Ah, Daniel ! such an experience 
alone is worth a man’s whole life. And yet I had the cour- 
age, mad as I was, to speak to her words of reason. Yes, 
I had the courage, and almost fabulous control over my- 
self, to conjure her to return home. She began to weep, 
and accused me of indifference. But I had discovered a 
way out of the difficulty, and rejoined, ‘Sarah, go home. 
Write me what you have just told me, and I am sure I 


68 


THE COUNT’S RECITAL. 


shall compel your friends to grant me your hand.’ She 
did so, and then what I had foreseen came to pass. In 
the face of such proof of what they called our madness 
Sir Tom and Mrs. Brian did not dare to oppose our plans 
any longer. After some little hesitation, and imposing 
certain honorable conditions, they said to Sarah and my- 
self, ‘ Well, as you are determined — go and get married.’ ” 

This is what the Count de Ville-Handry called “ chance.” 
The whole chain of circumstances which he himself re- 
corded from Sir Tom’s accident and Miss Brandon’s faint- 
ing fit, the meeting near the cascade, and the suggested 
elopement — all seemed to him perfectly natural and sim- 
ple. Daniel was thunderstruck. He could not possibly 
understand how a man like the count could be so perfectly 
blind to the intrigue that was going on around him. 
Limited, however, as were M. de Ville-Handry ’s powers 
of perception, he none the less noted Daniel’s preoccupa- 
tion. 

“Come,” said he, “what are you thinking of? Let us 
hear your opinion. Tell me frankly that you suspect Miss 
Brandon of trying to catch me in her snares, or, at least, 
of self-interest.” 

“I do not say so,” stammered Daniel. 

“No, but you think so, and that is worse. Well, I think 
I can convince you of your mistake. What do you think 
Miss Brandon would gain by marrying me ? A fortune, no 
doubt. I have only one word to reply, but that is suffi- 
cient — Miss Brandon is richer than I am myself.” 

Even if this were true Daniel knew well enough from 
Maxime’s account how the adventuress had acquired her 
wealth, and he could not repress a shudder, which the 
count noticed with no little irritation. 

“ Yes, richer than I am,” he repeated. “The oil-wells 
she has inherited from her father bring her in, one year 
with the other, some two hundred thousand francs annu- 
ally, and this in spite of their being sadly mismanaged. If 
they were properly attended to they would yield three, 
four, or five times as much, or even more. Sir Tom has 
proved to me that they are an almost inexhaustible source 
of wealth. If petroleum was not fabulously profitable how 
would you account for the oil-fever with which these 
cool, calculating Yankees have suddenly been seized, and 
which has made even more millionaires than the gold 
fever in California and the Territories? Ah there is 
something to be made in that direction yet, and something 
grand, if one only disposed of a large capital.” 


THE COUNT’S EECITAL. 


69 


He was growing excited, and forgetting himself — almost 
to the point of revealing some hidden secret ; but manag- 
ing to recover himself in time he continued, more calmly : 

“ However, enough of that. I trust your suspicions are 
removed. You may tell me, perhaps, that Miss Brandon 
takes me because she can do no better. Mistaken again, 
my friend. At this very moment she is called upon to 
choose between me and a much younger man than myself, 
a man whose fortune, moreover, is larger than mine — 
Count Gordon Chalusse. ” 

Why was it that the Count de Ville-Handry seemed to 
appeal to Daniel, and to plead his cause before him? 
Daniel did not even think of asking himself the question, 
for his mind was in a state of utter confusion. Still, as 
the count insisted on having his opinion, repeatedly ask- 
ing, “Well, do you see any other objection ?” he at last 
forgot Maxime’s prudent warning, and said, in a troubled 
voice, “No doubt, count, you know Miss Brandon’s 
family ?” 

“ Certainly ! Do you think I would buy a cat in a bag ? 
Her excellent father was a model of honesty.” 

“ And — her previous life ?” 

The count started from his chair, and casting a savage 
glance at Daniel exclaimed : 

“ Oh, oh ! I see that one of those rascally slanderers, 
who have tried to tarnish the honor of the noblest and 
chastest of women, has already been at work here, antici- 
pating my communication to you, and repeating the infa- 
mous calumnies I myself have heard of. You must give 
me the name of the scoundrel.” 

Daniel instinctively turned toward the door, behind 
which M. de Brevan was listening. Perhaps he expected 
him to appear ; but Maxime did not stir. 

“Sarah’s previous life !” continued the count, “I know 
every hour of it ; and I can answer for it as for my own. 
The darling ! Before consenting to be mine she insisted 
upon my knowing everything ; yes, everything, without 
reserve or boastfulness ; and I know what she has suf- 
fered. Did they not actually say she had been the accom- 
plice of a wretched thief, a cashier, who robbed his em- 
ployers ? Did they not say she had driven a foolish young 
man, a gambler, to commit suicide, and that she had 
watched him destroy himself ? Ah ! you have only to 
look at Miss Brandon to realize that these vile stories w r ere 
concocted by malicious enemies and rivals. And look 
here, Daniel, you may believe me ; whenever you see peo- 


70 


THE COUNT’S RECITAL. 


pie calumniate a man or woman you may rest assured 
that that man or woman has somehow or other wounded 
or humiliated some mean, envious fool, who cannot en- 
dure his or her superiority in point of fortune, rank, 
beauty, or talent.” 

M. de Ville-Handry had actually recovered his youthful 
energy in defending his inamorata. There was a brighter 
gleam in his eyes, a stronger ring in his voice, and more 
animation in his gestures. 

“But no more of that painful topic,” he said, “ let us 
talk seriously. I told you that Sir Tom and Mrs. Brian 
insisted upon certain conditions before they consented to 
our marriage. One of them is, that Miss Brandon is to be 
received by my relations as she deserves to be, not only 
respectfully, but affectionately, even tenderly. Now, so 
far as this point is concerned, I have some remote cous- 
ins, who, having nothing to expect from me when I die, 
do not trouble themselves any more about me than I trou- 
ble myself about them. But I have a daughter, and there 
is the danger. I know she is distressed at the idea of my 
marrying again. She cannot bear the idea of another wo- 
man taking her mother’s place, bearing her name, and 
ruling in my house. If she has taken it into her head to 
receive Miss Brandon uncivilly she will do so, notwith- 
standing all she has promised me, and there will be a ter- 
rible scene. In this case, if Miss Brandon consents, in 
spite of everything, to carry out our present intentions, 
my house will become a perfect hell upon earth. She — 
my wife — would, no doubt, suffer terribly. Now, the 
question is whether I have sufficient influence over Henri- 
ette to bring her to reason. I scarcely think so ; but the 
influence I may not possess may be at the command of a 
very honorable young man I know, and that man is you.” 

Daniel flushed scarlet. It was the first time that the 
count spoke so clearly. 

“I have never disapproved of my poor wife’s plans,” re- 
sumed M. de Ville-Handry, “and the proof is that I have 
allowed you to pay your attentions to my daughter. But 
now I make this condition : if my daughter behaves as 
she ought toward Miss Brandon— that is, as a tender and 
devoted sister, then, six months after my marriage, there 
shall be another wedding at my house.” Daniel was about 
to speak, but the count prevented him, continuing, “ No, 
not a word ! I have shown you the wisdom of my decis- 
ion, and you may act accordingly.” He had already put 
on his hat and opened the door, when he added, “ Ah ! one 


THOUGHTS OF THE FUTURE. 


71 


thing more. Miss Brandon has asked me to present you 
to her to-night. She wants to speak to you. Come and 
dine with me, and after dinner we will go to the Rue du 
Cirque. Now, pray think of what I have told you, and 
good-by.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

THOUGHTS OF THE FUTURE. 

The Count de Ville-Handry had hardly closed the door 
when M. de Brevan rushed out of his hiding-place. 

“Was I right?” he exclaimed. 

But Daniel did not hear his friend, whose very presence 
he had forgotten. Overcome by the great effort he had 
made to conceal his feelings, he had sunk on to a chair, 
where he still remained hiding his face in his hands, and 
mournfully repeating : 

“ The count has lost his mind altogether ; we are ruined.”' 

His grief was so intense that M. de Brevan was plainly 
touched. After looking at him compassionately for some 
minutes he touched his shoulder, exclaiming : 

“ Daniel !” 

This time the young officer heard his friend, and start- 
ing like a man suddenly roused from slumber, he recalled 
what had just happened, and asked : 

“You heard what he said, Maxime?” 

“Yes, I did — in fact, I did not lose a single word or ges- 
ture. But do not blame me for my indiscretion. It ena- 
bles me to give you some friendly advice. You know I 
have paid dearly for my experience.” 

He hesitated for a moment, as if at a loss how to ex- 
press himself, and then curtly asked : 

“You love Mile, de Ville-Handry?” 

“ More than life itself ; don’t you know I do ?” 

“ Well, if that is so, give up all thoughts of useless re- 
sistance ; induce Mile. Henriette to do as her father 
wishes, and persuade Miss Brandon to let your wedding 
take place a month after her own. But ask for special 
pledges. Mile, de Ville-Handry may suffer somewhat 
during the month’s interval, but on the morrow of your 
wedding you will carry her off to your own home, and 
leave the old man to his amorous folly.” 

This suggestion disclosed a new prospect for Daniel. ] 

“ I had not thought of that,” said he. 

“It is all you can do.” _ 


72 


THOUGHTS OF THE FUTURE. 


“ Yes ; no doubt it is the course that prudence would ad- 
vise, but in following it should I act honorably?” 

“ Oh, honor ! honor !” 

“Would it not be wrong for me to abandon the poor old 
fellow to the mercy of Miss Brandon and her accom- 
plices ?” 

“You will never be able to rescue him, my dear boy.” 

“Still, I ought at least to try. You yourself thought so 
yesterday, and even this morning, not two hours ago.” 

Maxime could scarcely conceal his impatience. 

“I did not know then what I know now,” he replied. 

Daniel nad risen, and was walking up and down the 
room, answering his own objections, rather than M. de 
Brevan’s. 

“If I were the only' person concerned in the matter,” 
said he, “I might perhaps capitulate. But Henriette would 
never do so. Her father safFs she is as weak as a child, 
but I fully believe that in a moment of emergency she 
would show great energy and will.” 

“What need is there for you to tell her at all who Miss 
Brandon is?” 

“ I have pledged my 'vVord of honor to tell her every- 
thing. ” 

“ In that case, my poor fellow, you had better give up 
your Henriette altogether.” 

“Not yet, my friend, not yet !” rejoined Daniel, who 
had seemingly mastered his despair. “An honest man 
who defends his life and honor is pretty strong after all. 
It is true I have little or no experience, but I have you, 
Maxime, and I know I can always count upon you. ” 

Daniel did not seem to notice that M. de Brevan, who 
the other evening had been all fire and energy, was now 
perceptibly cooler, as if — conscious of having made a mis- 
take — he wished to retrace his steps. 

“Certainly, you may count upon me,” he replied, qui- 
etly ; “but what on earth can be done?” 

“Well, what you said yourself. I shall call upon Miss 
Brandon, and watch her. I shall dissemble, and gain 
time. If necessary, I shall employ private detectives, and 
investigate her antecedents. I shall try to interest some 
high personage in my favor — my minister, for instance, 
who is very kind to me. Besides, I have an idea.” 

“Ah!” 

“ Suppose we could find that unlucky cashier, whom you 
told me about, and who you fancy is still alive. What 
was his name ? Oh, Malgat ! An advertisement inserted 


THOUGHTS OF THE FUTURE. 


73 


in all the leading newspapers of Europe would, no doubt, 

reach him, and the hope of vengeance ” 

M. de Brevan’s cheeks reddened perceptibly, and with 
strange vehemence he exclaimed : 

“ What nonsense !” Then in a more collected tone he 
added, “ You forget that Malgat has been sentenced to sev- 
eral years penal servitude, and that he will take your ad- 
vertisement to be a police trick and consequently conceal 
himself more carefully than ever.” 

But Daniel was not so easily shaken. 

“ Well, I will think it over,” he replied. “ Perhaps some- 
thing might be done with that young man whom M. de 
Ville-Handry mentioned — Count Cordon-Chalusse. If I 
thought he were really anxious for Miss Brandon’s hand — ” 
“ I have heard it said, and I am sure it’s true, that young 
Gordon is a perfect idiot, mad with vanity, and determined 
on anything to heighten his notoriety. As Miss Brandon 
is very famous he would marry her in the same way as he 
would pay a couple of hundred thousand francs for a race- 
horse.” 

“And how do you account for Miss Brandon’s refusal?” 
“Why, by the young fool’s character. She’s very well 
aware that after three months’ matrimony Gordon would 
decamp, and that there would be a legal separation before 
the year was over. And besides, Gordon is only five-and- 
twenty, and likely to live a good deal longer than a lover 
who is already nearly out of his sixties.” 

Maxime’s intonation imparted terrible significance to his 
words, and Daniel turned pale and stammered : 

“ Heavens ! Do you think Miss Brandon could ” 

“Could do anything, most assuredly — except, perhaps, 
get into trouble with the police. I have heard her say 
that only fools employ steel and poison.” As he spoke a 
strange smile crossed M. de Brevan’s lips, and he added, 
“It is true there are other means — less prompt, perhaps, 
but much safer — by which one may get rid of troublesome 
people. You ask what they are? Why, the same, no 
doubt, that she employed to get rid of poor Kergrist and 
Malgat — purely moral means, based upon her thorough 
knowledge of her victims’ characters, and her own in- 
fernal power over them. ” 

Daniel tried in vain to obtain more positive information 
from his friend. De Brevan answered him evasively ; 
perhaps because he did not dare to speak out freely, And 
reveal his real thoughts ; or, perhaps, because it came 
within his plans to content himself with adding this last 


74 


THOUGHTS OF THE FUTURE. 


terror f*p all Daniel’s other apprehensions. Maxime’s em- 
barrassment, unmistakable a moment ago, had now quite 
disappeared, as if he had come to some final decision after 
long hesitation. He who had advised all kinds of conces- 
sions now suggested the most energetic resistance, and 
seemed confident of success. When he at last left Daniel 
he had made the young officer promise to keep him hourly 
acquainted with whatever happened, and, above all, to try 
every means in his power to unmask Miss Brandon. 

“How he hates her !” ejaculated Daniel when he was 
alone, and in his simplicity he again asked himself wheth- 
er, after all, his friend’s hatred might not be rather far 
fetched. 

Champcey could understand well enough that a young 
and beautiful woman, actuated by covetousness and am- 
bition, might feign a love that she did not really feel for a 
foolish old millionaire, with the view of inducing him to 
marry her — bartering, as it were, her charms for gold. 
Such things happen every day in modern society, and are 
accepted quite naturally by people, said to be respectable. 
The same woman might, moreover, surmise that she would 
speedily become a widow, thus regaining her liberty, with 
the agreeable addendum of a large fortune. Such sur- 
mises are equally frequent. But it was a more serious 
thing to conclude that she would deliberately hasten her 
aged husband’s death by criminal means. Maxime’s pre- 
diction so seriously disturbed Daniel that he remained for 
hours in gloomy meditation— forgetting alike his official 
duties and the count’s invitation to dinner. At night- 
fall, however, his servant roused him from his reverie, 
and he suddenly remembered that he had not kept his 
promise to acquaint Henriette with whatever he discov- 
ered concerning Miss Brandon. 

Mile, de Ville-Handry had passed a sleepless night and 
anxious day, wondering why Daniel did not return, start- 
ing at each footstep on the stairs, at each rumble of wheels 
in the street below. She was positively thinking of going 
to his rooms in the Rue de l’Universite, when -a servant 
entered, and announced “M. Champcey.” Starting to her 
feet, she was about to greet her dilatory lover in reproach- 
ful strains, when, glancing at his sad face, she realized 
that he on his side must have suffered, and that some 
great misfortune had befallen them both. 

“Ah,” she exclaimed, “your fears were well grounded.” 

“Yes, unfortunately,” answered Daniel. 

“ Tell me everything, ” she replied. 


THOUGHTS OP THE PUTURE. 


75 


“Your father called on me this morning,” answered the 
young officer, “and offered me your hand, providing I ob- 
tained your consent to his marriage with Miss Brandon.” 

And then, faithful to his promise, he repeated every- 
thing he had learned from Maxime and the count, merely 
omitting such details as were unfit for Henriette’s ears, 
and the last and most terrible charge which M. de Brevan 
had preferred against the adventuress. 

“To think of my father marrying such a creature,” ex- 
claimed Henriette, when he had finished. “ It is impossi- 
ble for me to sit still and smile, when such ruin and dis- 
grace threaten us. I shall oppose Miss Brandon with all 
my strength and energy.” 

“Nevertheless, she may succeed,” remarked Daniel. 

“Succeed ! Well, at all events, she shall never conquer 
me. My hand shall never touch hers, and if my father 
persists I will seek refuge in a convent.” 

“M. de Ville-Handry would never consent to that.” 

“ Then I will shut myself up in my room, and never leave 
it again. I scarcely think they will drag me out by force. ” 

She spoke with an earnestness and a determination 
which nothing seemed likely to shake or break, and yet 
Daniel was oppressed with sad presentiments. 

“Miss Brandon will not come here alone,” said he. 

“ Who will come with her, then ?” 

“ Why, her relatives — Sir Thomas Elgin and Mrs. Brian. 
Oh, Henriette, my love, to think that you should be ex- 
posed to the persecution of such odious beings.” 

“ I am not afraid of them,” replied Mile, de Ville-Han- 
dry, proudly raising her head, and in a gentler tone she 
added, “Besides won’t you always be near me, to advise 
and protect me in case of danger ?” 

“ I ? Why one of their first efforts will be to try and 
part us.” 

“ Yes, I know well enough that the house will no longer 
be open to you.” 

“ Well, then ?” 

Blushing to the roots of her hair, and averting her 
glance, Henriette resumed : 

“If they force me to do so I must act as a girl in ordi- 
nary circumstances never should do. I will meet you se- 
cretly. I will win over one of my maids, the most dis- 
creet I can find, and through her we may correspond.” 

This arrangement did not seemingly relieve Daniel from 
his apprehensions, for with quivering lips he asked ; 

“And then?” 


76 


THOUGHTS OF THE FUTURE. 


Henriette understood his embarrassment and timidity. 

“I thought,” said she, “that you would be willing to 
wait until the law authorizes me to make my own choice ; 
and when that day comes I promise you, Daniel, that 
whatever my father may say I will ask you for your arm, 
and in broad daylight leave this house never to re-enter 
it again. ” 

Seizing his true-love’s hand and carrying it to his lips, 
Daniel repeated with rapture : 

“ Ah, you have restored me to hope.” 

Then seated side by side they discussed their plans, and 
Daniel explained that he intended to make one last effort 
touvert this marriage, asking Henriette to hide her inten- 
tions from her father until the result of this final scheme 
was known. After infinite pleading she at last consented. 

“I will do what you desire,” she said, “but, believe me, 
all your efforts will be in vain.” 

She was interrupted by the Count de Ville-Handry’s ar- 
rival. He kissed his daughter, said a few words about 
the weather, and then drawing Daniel into a bay-window, 
eagerly asked : 

“Have you spoken to her?” 

“Yes ; Mile. Henriette wants a few days to consider.” 

“That’s absurd,” replied the count, with a look of dis- 
pleasure. “Nothing could be more ridiculous. But, after 
all, it’s your own business, my dear Daniel. And if you 
want any additional motive I will tell you that my daugh- 
ter is very rich. She will have more than two million 
francs of her own.” 

“ Sir !” exclaimed Daniel, indignantly. But the Count 
de Ville-Handry had already turned upon his heels, and 
the butler was at the door, announcing that dinner was 
on the table. 

Although the repast was excellent in itself it was a very 
dull matter, indeed, so far as conversation was concerned. 
However, it was promptly dispatched, for the count seemed 
to be sitting on needles, and looked at his watch every 
other minute. Coffee had just been handed round, when, 
turning to Daniel, he exclaimed, “Let us make haste. 
Miss Brandon expects us.” And scarcely allowing the 
young officer time to take leave of Henriette, he led him 
to his carriage, pushed him inside, jumped in afterward, 
and called out to the. coachman, “To Miss Brandon’s in 
the Rue du Cirque ! Drive fast.” 


A CALL ON MISS BRANDON. 


77 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A CALL ON MISS BRANDON. 

Ten minutes sufficed to drive the whole distance to the 
Rue du Cirque. 

“Here we are,” cried the count, who, without waiting 
for the footman to assist him in alighting, sprang out of 
the vehicle, and impetuously raised the knocker garnish- 
ing the door of Miss Brandon’s residence. 

A servant took the visitors’ overcoats, and escorted them 
to the first floor. Scarcely had they reached the landing 
than the count paused and stammered as if his breath were 
failing him, “ There, there 1” 

Daniel was at a loss to divine his meaning, but in point 
of fact the count wished to apprise him that this was the 
spot where he had held Miss Brandon in his arms on the 
day she fainted. However, Daniel had no time to ask any 
questions, for here came another servant, who, with adow 
bow, informed the visitors that Mrs. Brian and Miss Dran- 
don had just risen from table, and were still engaged at 
their toilets. At the same time he asked them to walk 
into the grand drawing-room, adding that he would in- 
form Sir Thomas Elgin of their arrival. 

“All right,” rejoined the count, in a tone which indi- 
cated that he considered himself perfectly at home in Miss 
Brandon’s house, and, followed by Daniel, he at once en- 
tered the great reception-room. 

Sir Thomas Elgin soon entered the room. He was in 
evening dress, and looked taller and stiffer than ever in 
his white cravat ; he walked a little lame, and leaned for 
support on a stout cane. 

“ What, my dear Sir Tom !” exclaimed the count, “ does 
your leg stili trouble you ?” 

“ Oh, a great deal !” replied the honorable gentleman, 
with a marked English accent ; “ a great deal since this 
morning. The doctor thinks there must be something the 
matter with the bone.” 

The Count de Ville-Handry assumed a look of commiser- 
ation, and then, forgetting that he had introduced Daniel 
already the night before at the opera-house he presented 


78 A CALL ON MISS BRANDON. 

him over again. This ceremony being accomplished, he 
remarked : 

“ Upon my word, I am almost ashamed to appear so 
early, but I knew you expected company to-night.” 

“ Oh, only a few persons. ” 

“And I desired to see you for a few moments alone.” 

Sir Thomas Elgin smiled, or rather he made a horrible 
grimace. Then caressing his whiskers, he exclaimed : 

“Miss Sarah has been informed of your arrival, and I 
heard her tell Mrs. Brian that she was nearly ready. I 
cannot imagine how she can spend so much time at her 
toilet.” 

While this pair chatted before the fire-place Daniel 
withdrew to a window looking on to the court-yard and 
garden behind the house. With his brow resting against 
the cool glass he remained in meditation. The noise of a 
carriage entering the court-yard roused him from his 
thoughts. He looked out. A brougham had stopped be- 
fore the back door. A lady alighted, and he could scarce- 
ly repress an exclamation of surprise, for he thought he 
recognized her. For a moment he remained uncertain, 
but she suddenly raised her head to speak to the coach- 
man, and as she did so the light of a lamp fell full upon 
her features. There could be no further doubt. This wo- 
man was Miss Brandon. She flew up the steps, and en- 
tered the house. Daniel distinctly heard the heavy door 
close behind her. At the opera the night before a single 
word uttered by her had sufficed to enlighten him. And 
now here was an unmistakable tangible fact to support his 
earlier suspicions. To increase the count’s passionate im- 
patience he had been told that Miss Brandon had not quite 
finished dressing, but was making all haste to come down 
to him. Not a word had been said of her absence from 
the house, or of her expected return. Where had she 
been? W T hat new intrigue had compelled her to leave the 
house at such a moment ? It must evidently have been 
something of great importance to have kept her out so 
late, when, as she was bound to know, the count was 
waiting for her. This incident threw a flood of light on 
the cunning policy of these adventurers, on Sir Thomas 
Elgin’s and Mrs. Brian’s clever and active complicity. 
Daniel now fully understood their game, and realized how 
the Count de Ville Handry had been entrapped. He him- 
self could never have escaped such snares. What skillful 
actors these intriguantes were. And how perfect all their 
arrangements, down to the merest points of detail. Now 


A CALL ON MISS BRANDON. 


79 


fully enlightened, and with every doubt dispelled, the 
young officer composed himself for the coming battle, and 
fearing that his isolation and dreamy look might betray 
his thoughts, he returned to the fire-place, where the 
count and Sir Tom were still engaged in familiar conver- 
sation. 

M. de Ville-Handry was just detailing his arrangements 
for his wedding. He meant to reside with his wife on the 
second floor of his mansion, for he intended dividing the 
first floor into two suites of apartments — one for Sir 
Thomas Elgin, and the other for Mrs. Brian ; knowing 
very well that his adored Sarah would never consent to 
part from the dear relatives who had been father and 
mother to her. The last words remained in his throat, for 
he paused as if suddenly petrified, with his eyes starting 
from their sockets and his mouth wide open. Mrs. Brian 
had entered the room, followed Dy Miss Brandon. On this 
occasion Daniel was even more impressed with the young 
American’s beauty than on the previous night at the 
opera. Approaching the Count de Ville-Handry with a 
smile, and offering him her brow to kiss, she shyly asked, 
“Do I look well, dear count?” 

The count quivered from head to foot, and had scarcely 
sufficient command over himself to stretch out his lips 
and stammer in an ecstatic tone : 

“Oh, beautiful, too beautiful !” 

“ It has taken you long enough, I am sure,” remarked 
Sir Tom, severely, “too long.” 

And yet he might have known that in point of fact Miss 
Brandon had accomplished a miracle of expeditiousness, 
for a quarter of an hour had not elapsed since her return 
to the house. 

“You are an impertinent fellow, Tom,” she rejoined, 
with a girlish laugh, “and I am glad the count’s presence 
relieves me from your eternal sermons.” 

“Sarah !” exclaimed Mrs. Brian, reprovingly. 

But Miss Brandon had already turned, offering her hand 
to Daniel. 

“ I am so glad you have come !” she said. “I am sure 
we shall understand each other admirably.” 

She spoke these words as softly as possible, but if he had 
known her better he would have read in her eyes that her 
ideas had completely changed since the preceding night ; 
then she wished him well, now she hated him intensely. 

“Understand each other?” he repeated as he bowed. 
“In what?” 


80 


A CALL ON MISS BRANDON. 


She made no rejoinder. Indeed, their conversation was 
interrupted by a servant, who, opening the door, announced 
several of the usual visitors. It was now ten o’clock, and 
for an hour or so there was a constant arrival of guests. 
At eleven there were fully a hundred persons in the grand 
and small drawing-rooms, without counting the occupants 
of two side apartments where card-tables had been set out. 
Gracefully reclining in an easy-chair near the fire-place, 
Sarah played the part of a young queen surrounded by her 
court. But despite the multitude of her admirers, and the 
constant succession of compliments she had to listen to, 
she never for one moment lost sight of Daniel, but watched 
him stealthily, seeking to divine his thoughts by the ex- 
pression of his features. At one moment she even shocked 
her crowd of worshipers by suddenly leaving her place to 
ask him why he held himself so aloof, and whether he 
felt indisposed. Then, perceiving that he was a perfect 
stranger in such a gathering, she was gracious enough 
to point out to him some of the most remarkable among 
her visitors — acquainting him, indeed, so persistently with 
the names of her distinguished friends, that Daniel began 
to think she must have divined his intentions, and desired 
to warn him against entering on a struggle. It was, in- 
deed, as if she had said, “You see what friends I have, 
and how they could defend me if you dared to attack me.” 

Nevertheless, he was not discouraged, for he had already 
estimated the difficulty of his undertaking, and the obsta- 
cles he was likely to encounter. While the conversation 
was progressing around him he arranged in his head a 
plan, which, he hoped, would enable him to fathom this 
dangerous siren’s antecedents. He was so preoccupied 
with this scheme that he did not notice that the guests 
were rapidly retiring, and, indeed, he was still wrapped in 
reverie when only a few intimate friends and a few card- 
players — engaged at their last game — remained of all the 
briiliant throng. However, he was roused at last by Miss 
Brandon’s voice exclaiming : 

“Will you grant me ten minutes’ conversation, M. 
Champcey ?” 

As he rose mechanically to his feet Mrs. Brian interposed, 
exclaiming in English, “Your conduct is most improper, 
Sarah !” and Sir Thomas Elgin added, “Shocking !” But 
Miss Brandon merely shrugged her shoulders, and rejoined, 
“ Our dear count alone would have a right to judge my 
conduct, and he has authorized me to do what I am do- 


“WHAT A WOMAN!” 


81 


ing.” Then turning to Daniel she added, “Come with me, 
sir.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

“what a woman!” 

She led him to a small boudoir of fresh and coquettish 
aspect, and which seemed almost a conservatory, so replete 
was it with rare and fragrant flowers. Seating herself on 
a small sofa, she began, after a short pause : 

“My aunt was right ; it would have been more proper 
for me to convey to you what I want to say through Sir 
Thomas Elgin. But in my country girls are independent, 
and when my interests are at stake I trust no one but my- 
self. I have heard that my dear aunt went to see you this 
afternoon, so, no doubt, you know that in less than a 
month I shall be the Countess de Ville-Handry. Now,” 
concluded Miss Brandon, “I wish to hear from your own 
lips whether you see — any — objections to this match.” 

She spoke so frankly that it was plain she was utterly 
ignorant of that article in the code of social laws which 
directs a French girl never to speak of matrimony without 
blushing to the roots of her hair. Daniel, on the contrary, 
was most embarrassed. 

“I confess,” he replied, with much hesitation, “that I do 
not understand, that I cannot possibly explain to myself 
why you do me the honor ” 

“ To consult you ? Excuse me ; I think you understand 
me perfectly well. Has not Mile, de Ville-Handry’ s hand 
been promised you ?” 

“ The count has allowed me to hope ” 

“He has pledged his word, sir, under certain conditions, 
and has told me everything. I speak, therefore, to the 
Count de Ville Handry’s son-in-law, and I repeat, Do you 
see any objections to this match?” 

The question was too precise to allow of any prevarica- 
tion. And yet Daniel was anxious to gain time, and avoid 
any positive answer. For the first time in his life he 
uttered a falsehood, and stammered out : 

“I see no objection.” 

. She shook her head as if scarcely satisfied, and then 
continued, slowly : 

“ If that be the case you will not refuse me a great 
favor. Carried away by her grief at seeing her father 
marry again, Mile, de Ville-Handry hates me without even 


82 


‘ ‘WHAT 7A* WOMAN !” 


knowing me. Will you promise me to use your influence 
in trying to persuade her to change her disposition toward 
me?” 

Never had honest Daniel Champcey been tried so hard. 

“I am afraid you overestimate my influence,” he an- 
swered, in diplomatic fashion. 

“I do not ask of you to succeed,” she rejoined, giving 
him a sharp and penetrating glance, which made him 
fairly start, “ only give me your word that you will do 
your best, and I shall be very much obliged to you. Will 
you give me that promise ?” 

Could he do so? The situation was so exceptional, ana 
it was so desirable he should lull the enemy into security 
for a time, that for a moment he was inclined to pledge, 
his word. Nay, more than inclined, for he made an effort 
to do so. But his lips refused to utter a false oath. 

“ You see, resumed Miss Brandon, coldly, “ you see you 
were deceiving me.” And turning away from him, she 
hid her face in her hands, apparently overcome by grief. 
“What a disgrace ! Great Heaven ! What humiliation !” 
she repeated, in a tone of bitter sorrow. But suddenly her 
features brightened as if with a ray of hope, and she ex- 
claimed, “Well, let it be so. I like it all the better so. A 
mean man would not have hesitated at an oath, however 
determined he might have been not to keep it. While you 
— I can trust you ; you are a man of honor, and all is not 
lost yet. What is the cause of your aversion ? Is it a 
question of money — the count’s fortune?” 

“ Miss Brandon !” 

“ No, it is not that, I see; I was quite sure it was not. 
What can it be then ? Tell me, sir, I beseech you, tell 
me.” 

What could he tell her ? Silence was his only answer. 

“Ah !” ejaculated Sarah, clenching her teeth convul- 
sively, “ I understand that the infamous slanders of my 
enemies have reached you, and that you have believed 
them. You have, no doubt, been told that I am an adven- 
turess, come from nowhere ; that no one knows whence I 
derive my income ; that Tom, that noble soul, and Mrs. 
Brian, a saint upon earth, are my accomplices. Confess, 
you have been told all that, and have believed it. But 
have I a right to complain ? I reap whac I sowed. Alas-! 
Tom has told me so often enough, and I would not believe 
him. I was not twenty years old when I came to Paris, 
after my poor father’s death. I had been brought up in 
America, where young girls know no other law but that 


“WHAT A WOMAN !” 


83 


of their own consciences. In Philadelphia I did every- 
thing I chose, provided 1 did not think it wrong, and I 
fancied I could do the same heie. Poor me ! I forgot the 
wickedness of the world. I went out riding alone m the 
morning ; I went to church alone, and if I needed any- 
thing for my toilet I ordered the carriage, and drove out 
alone to buy it. I did not feel bound to cast down my eyes 
every time a man spoke to me, and if he was amusing and 
witty I laughed at what he said. If a new fashion pleased 
me I adopted it. I committed all these crimes. I was 
young, rich, and popular, and these were so many more 
offenses against the social code of .Paris. The result was 
that I had scarcely been here a year when people said that 

that wretch Malgat ” She paused as she uttered the 

cashier’s name, and springing to her feet bounded coward 
Daniel, both of whose hands she grasped as she continued, 
“ Malgat ! Have your friends talked to you about Mal- 
gat?” And as he hesitated to reply she added, “ Ah, an- 
swer me. Don t you see that your hesitation is an insult ?” 

“ Well — yes,” stammered the young officer. 

With a gesture of despair she raised her hands to heaven, 
calling God, as it were, to witness her humiliation, and 
asking Him for an inspiration. Then as if with sudden 
resolution, she exclaimed, “But I have proofs, unimpeach- 
eable proofs, of Malgat’ s rascality.” And without waiting 
for another word she hurried into the adjoining room. 

Daniel remained motionless in the center of the boudoir. 
He was positively thunderstruck, and so faultlessly did 
Miss Brandon pass from one emotion to the other — sound- 
ing in turn each chord of passion, that he again almost 
asked himself if she were really acting. 

“ What a woman !” he murmured to himself, uncon- 
sciously repeating his friend De Brevan’s words — “What 
a woman ! And how well she defends herself.” 

But Miss Brandon had already returned, carrying a small 
casket of costly wood, inlaid with ivory. Resuming her 
seat on the sofa she exclaimed, in a sharp, curt tone, in- 
dicative of suppressed passion : 

“First of all, I must thank you, M. Champcby, for your 
frankness, for it enables me to defend myself. I knew 
that I had been calumniated, but it is a difficult thing to 
bring slanderers to book, though, fortunately, through 
you I am now able to .face them. May I ask you to listen 
to me — for I swear to you, by my mother’s memory, that 
you shall learn the truth— the whole truth.” 

Pausing for a moment she opened the casket, and rum- 


“WHAT A WOMAN!’* 


8A 

maged among the papers it contained as if in search of 
some particular document. Then with feverish haste she 
continued : 

“M. Malgat was the cashier and confidential clerk of the 
Mutual Discount Society, a large and powerful hanking 
company. Sir Thomas Elgin had some business with him 
a few weeks after our arrival here, for the purpose of 
drawing funds he had left in Philadelphia. Malgat was 
very obliging, and Sir Tom, to show his appreciation, in- 
vited him to dine here. This is how he became acquainted 
with Mrs. Brian and myself. He was a man of forty or 
thereabouts, of medium height, neither good-looking nor 
ugly, but polite, though not refined in manners. I should 
have paid but little attention to him if a strange expres- 
sion which came at times into his little yellow eyes had 
not fairly frightened me. I can’t explain his look to you, 
but it was that of a vicious man. My impression was so 
strong that I could not help telling Tom that I felt sure 
Malgat would turn out badly, and that it was very wrong 
on his part to trust him in money matters. Tom only 
laughed at my presentiments, and I distinctly remember 
that even Mrs. Brian scolded me for judging a man by his 
mere appearance, declaring that there were very honest 
men in the world who had yellow eyes. I must acknowl- 
edge, moreover, that M. Malgat behaved perfectly well 
whenever he was here. As Sir Tom was imperfectly ac- 
quainted with Parisian customs, and had some money to 
invest, he asked Malgat to advise him. Whenever we re- 
ceived drafts on the Mutual Discount Society, he always 
saved us the trouble of going to cash them, and brought 
the money here himself. After a while, when Sir Tom 
took it into his head to try some small speculations on 
’change, M. Malgat offered his assistance ; but in point of 
fact they never had any luck. ” 

While speaking Miss Brandon had found the papers she 
was looking for, and she now handed them to Daniel, say- 
ing : 

“ If you at all doubt what I say look at these.” 

The documents offered for Daniel’s inspection were a 
dozen slips of paper, on which Ma]gat reported his opera- 
tions at the Bourse, carried on on Sir Thomas Elgin's ac- 
count, and with the latter’s money. They all finished in 
the same fashion— “We have lost considerably, but are 
bound to be more fortunate next time. There is a capital 
chance with such and such shares ; send me all the money 
you can spare.” Although the purport of the missives 


“WHAT A WOMAN !“ 85 

was invariably the same, the funds alluded to varied in 
each letter. 

“It’s very strange,” ejaculated Daniel, speaking rather 
to himself than to Miss Brandon. 

“Strange? Yes, indeed !” rejoined Sarah. “But please 
read this other letter, which is more explicit still. Read 
it aloud, pray.” 

So speaking she handed Daniel a note couched in the 
following terms : 

“ Paris, December 5. 

“Sir Thomas Elgin. Dear Sir: In a position of great distress, and 
at a loss where to turn for a helping hand, I make so bold as to write 
to you — a man of high honor and integrity— and confess that, to my 
everlasting shame, I have committed a crime. While carrying on your 
speculations, I gave way to temptation, and speculated on my own 
account. The little money I possessed soon disappeared, and, in my 
endeavors to recover it, I lost my head ; so that, at the present hour, I 
owe more than fifty thousand francs, taken from the safe of the society. 
Will you have pity on me? Will you be generous enough to lend me 
that sum ? I may not be able to return it in less than six or seven 
years; but I will repay you, I swear it, with interest. I await your an- 
swer, like a criminal waiting for the verdict of the jury. It is a matter 
of life and death with me; and as you decide, so I may be saved, or 
disgraced forever. A. Malgat.” 

On the margin methodical Sir Tom had noted, in his 
angular handwriting : 

“ Answered immediately. Sent M. M. a cheque for 50,000 francs, to 
be drawn from funds deposited with the Mutual Discount Society. No 
interest to be paid.” 

“And that,” stammered Daniel, “that is the man ” 

“Whom I was charged with having turned aside from 
the paths of honesty ; yes, sir. Now you learn to know 
him. But wait. You see, he was saved. It was not long 
before he appeared here again with his false face bathed 
in tears. I can find no words to convey to yoiV £is exag- 
gerated expressions* of gratitude. He refused* ..to shake 
hands with Sir Thomas Elgin, because, he said, he was no 
longer worthy of such an honor. He spoke of nothing but 
devotion unto death. It is true that Sir Tom carried his 
generosity to extremes. He, who is a model of honesty, 
and would have starved rather than touch money intrusted 
to his care, consoled Malgat, telling him that there were 
some temptations too strong to be resisted, and repeating 
all the paradoxical phrases which have been specially in- 
vented for the justification of thieves. Malgat had still 
some money of his own, but Sir Tom did not ask him for 


86 


“WHAT A WOMAN!” 


it, for fear of hurting his feelings. He continued to invite 
him, and urged him to come and dine with us as formerly. ” 

Miss Brandon paused, laughing with that strange, nerv- 
ous laugh, which is often the precursor of a hysteric fit. 
Then in a hoarse voice she continued, “ Do you know, M. 
Champcey, how Malgat repaid all this kindness ? Read 
this last note ; it will restore me your esteem, I trust.” 
With these words she produced yet another letter, written 
by Malgat to Sir Thomas Elgin. 

“I deceived you,” it began. “I had not merely taken 50,000 francs 
from the bank, but more than 300,000. By means of false entries I 
had managed to conceal my defalcations until now; but I can do so no 
longer. The directors have begun to suspect me: and the chairman 
has just told me that to-morrow the books will be examined. I am lost. 
I ought to kill myself, I know; but I have not the courage to do so. I 
venture to ask you to furnish me with the means of escaping from 
France. I beseech you on my knees, in the name of all that is dear to 
you, for mercy’s sake; for I am penniless, and cannot even pay my 
railway fare as far as the frontier. Nor can I return home, for I am 
watched. Once more, have pity on an unfortunate man, and leave your 
answer with the concierge. I will cal) for it at about nine o’clock. 

“A. Malgat.” 

Not on the margin, as before, but right across the lines, 
Sir Thomas Elgin had laconically penned : 

“ Answered immediately. No ! The scamp ! ” 

Daniel was too fearfully excited to speak a word ; it was 
as much as he could do to return Miss Brandon the letter. 

“We were dining alone the day that note arrived,” said 
she, “ and Sir Tom was so indignant that he forgot his 
usual reserve, and told us everything. For myself I could 
not help pitying the wretched man, and I besought Tom to 
furnish him with means to escape. He was inflexible, 
but perceiving my distress he tried to reassure me by say- 
ing that Malgat would certainly not come, for he would 
not dare to expect an answer to such a letter.” Pressing 
both her hands against her heart, as if to still its breath- 
ing, she continued, in a weaker voice, “ Nevertheless he 
came, and seeing his hopes disappointed he insisted upon 
speaking to us. The servants allowed him to come up 
stairs. Ah, if I lived a thousand years, I should never 
forget that fearful scene. Feeling that all was lost this 
thief, this defaulter, became positively enraged ; he de- 
manded money. At first he asked for it on his knees in 
humble words, but when he found that this plan did not 
answer he rose to his feet in a perfect fury, and with foam- 
ing mouth and blood-shot eyes, overwhelmed us with the 


“WHAT A WOMAN!” 


87 


coarsest insults. At last Tom’s patience gave out, and he 
rang for the servants. They had to employ force to drag 
him out, and as they forced him down stairs he threatened 
us with his fists, and swore that he would be avenged.” 

Miss Brandon shuddered so repeatedly while she spoke 
that Daniel fancied she was about to faint. But, after an 
effort, she seemingly mastered her weakness, and resumed 
her narrative in a more decided tone. 

u By degrees the impression caused on us all by this hor- 
rible scene faded from our minds, until we only thought 
of it as a bad dream. If we mentioned Malgat at all it was 
only with pity and contempt, for what could he do to us ? 
Nothing, you may say. Even if he dared to accuse us of 
some great crime we thought no one would listen to him, 
and that we should never hear of it. How could we im- 
agine that folks would question our integrity on the mere 
word of such a scoundrel ? In the meanwhile his crime had 
become known, and all the papers were full of it, adding 
a number of more or less reliable particulars. They exag- 
gerated the amount he had stolen, and declared he had 
succeeded in escaping to England, the police having lost 
his traces in London. As for myself,!! had nearly forgot- 
ten the whole matter. He had undoubtedly fled, but be- 
fore leaving Paris he had schemed out the vengeance he 
threatened us with. I cannot say how or where he found 
people mean enough to serve his purposes, or even who 
they were, but perhaps as Mrs. Brian suggested, he con- 
tented himself with sending anonymous letters to some of 
our acquaintances, who did not like us, or envied us. 
At all events, in less than a week after his disappearance, 
it was reported everywhere that I, Sarah Brandon, had 
been this defaulter’s accomplice, and that the sums he had 
stolen might easily be found if my private drawers could 
only be searched. Yes, that is what folks said, at first in 
a cautious whisper, then in a louder tone, and finally 
openly, and before all the world. Soon the papers took 
the matter up. They repeated these slanders, arranging 
them to suit their purpose, and speaking of me with a 
thousand infamous insinuations. They said that Malgat 
had acted in the American style, and remarked that it was 
quite natural he should go to a foreign country, after 
having been associated with a certain foreign lady.” 

A crimson flush Suffused Sarah’s cheeks; her. bosom 
heaved with emotion, and her features assumed in turn an 
expression of shame, indignation, resentment, and desire 
for revenge. 


88 


“WHAT A WOMAN !” 


“Conscious of our honesty,” she resumed, “ we paid no 
attention to these scurrilous reports. Indeed, we were as 
yet ignorant of them. It is true I had noticed some of our 
acquaintances whisper together and smile and look at each 
other in a strange manner in my presence, but I had not 
troubled myself as to the cause. However, one afternoon, 
while we were out a paper was left at the house, and this 
acquainted us with the true state of things. It was a sum- 
mons for me to appear before an investigating magistrate. 
It came like a thunderbolt. Sir Tom was so enraged that 
he swore I should not go. He declared he would discover 
my traducers, and challenge and kill every one who re- 
peated these abominable slanders. He insisted on going 
out at once, and Mrs. Brian and myself were quite unable 
to detain him. He roughly pushed us aside, and taking 
Malgat’s letters, hurried out of the house. We were left 
in a state of suspense and anxiety till midnight, when he 
returned fairly exhausted. He had seen all our friends 
he could think of, and had everywhere been told that he 
Avas too simple, to give a thought to such infamous reports ; 
that they were too absurd to be believed.” At this point 
of her narrative Miss Brandon nearly gave way, sobs in- 
tercepting her words ; but once more she mastered her 
emotion, and continued, “I went the next day to the 
Palais de Justice, and after being kept waiting for a long 
time in a dark passage I was conducted before the magis- 
trate in his private room. He was an elderly man, with 
hard features and piercing eyes, and receded me as bru- 
tally as if I had been a criminal. But when I had shown 
him the letters you ha\ T e just read his manner suddenly 
changed, pity got the better of him, and I thought I saw 
a tear in his eye. Ah ! I shall be eternally grateful to 
him for the words he said Avhen I left his office — ‘Poor 
young girl ! Justice bows reverently before your inno- 
cence. Would to God that the world could be made to do 
the same. ’ ” She paused anew, and then fixing her eyes, 
trembling with mingled fear and hope, upon Daniel, she 
added, in a supplicating voice, “ The world has been more 
cruel than justice itself ; but you, gir, Avill you be harder 
than the magistrate ?” 

Ah ! Daniel was sorely embarrassed what to answer. 
His brain was whirling. 

“ Sir !” begged Miss Brandon again. “M. Champcey !” 

Her eyes were still fixed upon him, and he instinctively 
turned his head aside, feeling that, when his glance met 


“WHAT A WOMAN J” 89 

hers all his will and energy were, as if by a strange fasci- 
nation, paralyzed. 

“Great Heaven !” exclaimed Miss Brandon, with grieved 
surprise, “he still doubts me. M. Champcey, speak, I pray 
you ? Do you doubt the authenticity of those letters ? Ah, 
if you do take them, for I do not hesitate to confide them 
to you, although they are the only proofs of my innocence. 
Take and show them to the clerks who sat for twenty 
years in the same office with Malgat, and they will tell you 
the handwriting is his ; that he himself signed his own 
condemnation when penning them. And if that is not 
enough go to the magistrate who examined me ; his name 
is Patrigent.” 

This last appeal failed, like the preceding ones, to elicit 
any reply from Daniel. In his confusion he had sunk on 
to a chair, and with his elbow resting on a small stand, 
and his brow on his hands, he was endeavoring to think 
and reason. As he remained thus Miss Brandon rose, 
approached him softly, and taking one of his hands mur- 
mured, gently : 

“ I beseech you !” 

But as if suddenly electrified by the touch of this soft, 
warm hand, Daniel rose so hastily that he upset the chair, 
and trembling with mysterious terror, exclaimed : 

“ Kergrist !” 

Miss Brandon bounded back as if suddenly scorched by 
fire. From crimson her face turned livid ; she darted at 
Daniel a glance of burning hatred. 

“Oh!” she murmured, “ oh !” as if she could find no 
words to express her feelings. 

Was she going away ? It seemed for one moment as if 
she thought of doing so, for she walked toward the door, 
but, apparently changing her mind, she abruptly turned 
and faced Daniel again. 

“This is the first time in my life,” she said, in a quiver- 
ing voice, ‘ £ that I condescend to justify myself against 
such infamous charges, and you abuse my patience by 
heaping insult after insult upon me. But never mind. I 
look upon you as Henriette’s husband, and since I have 
commenced I mean to finish.” 

Daniel tried to say a few words of apology, but she in- 
terrupted him. 

“ Well, yes ; one night a young man, Charles de Kergrist 
— a profligate, a gambler, crowning his scandalous life in 
the vilest and meanest fashion— did come and kill himself 
under my window. On the morrow a great outcry arose 


90 


‘WHAT A WOMAN !’ 


against me, and three days later the madman’s brother, 
M. Rene de Kergrist, came to ask Sir Thomas Elgin for an 
explanation. Bat do you know what came of this expla- 
nation? Charles de Kergrist, it was shown, had killed 
himself in a state of drunkenness after supper. He com- 
mitted suicide because he had lost his fortune at Homburg 
and Baden ; because he had exhausted his last resources ; 
because his father, ashamed of his disgraceful conduct, 
refused to acknowledge him any longer. And if he chose 
my window for his suicide it was because he wished to 
satisfy a petty grievance. Looking upon me as an heiress, 
with a fortune that would enable him to continue his 
extravagant life he had courted me, and had been refused 
by Sir Thomas Elgin. Finally, at the time the catastrophe 
occurred, I was sixty miles from here, at Tours, staying 
with one of Sir Tom’s friends, Mr. Palmer, who de- 
posed ” and as Daniel looked at her with an air of 

utter bewilderment, she added, “Perhaps you will ask me 
for proofs of what I state. I have none to give you. But 
I know a man who can give you what you want, and that 
man is M. de Kergrist’s brother, for since those explana- 
tions, he has continued to be our friend — one of our best 
friends. And he was here to-night, and you must have 
seen him, for he came and spoke to me while you were 
standing by me. He lives in Paris, and Sir Tom will give 
you his addess.” 

Casting on Daniel a glance in which pity and contempt 
were strangely mingled, she concluded, in her proudest 
tone : 

“ And now, sir, since I have deigned to stand here like a 
criminal, sit in judgment on me. Question me, and I will 
answer. What else have you to charge me with ?” 

In the exercise of judicial functions calmness is, of all 
things, most requisite, and Daniel was but too conscious 
of his intense excitement ; he knew he could not prevent 
his features from expressing his utter bewilderment. 
Hence he gave up all discussion, and simply said : 

“I believe you, Miss Brandon, I believe you.” 

The beautiful Sarah’s eyes sparkled for a moment with 
joy, and in a tone of voice which sounded like the echo of 
her heart she said : 

“ Oh, thank you ! now I am sure you will win me Mile. 
Henriette’s friendship.” 

Why did she mention that name? It broke the charm 
which had conquered Daniel. He perceived how weak he 
had been, and felt ashamed of himself. 


“WHAT A WOMAN !’ 


91 


“Excuse me from answering that point to-night,” he 
replied, with sudden sternness. “ I should like to con- 
sider.” 

She looked at him stupefied. 

“What do you mean?” she asked. “Have I removed 
your doubts and suspicions or not ? Perhaps you wish to 
consult one of my enemies ?” 

She spoke in a tone of such profound disdain that Dan- 
iel, stung to the quick, forgot the discretion he had intended 
to observe, and retorted : 

“Since you insist upon it, Miss Brandon, I must con- 
fess that there is one doubt which you have not removed.” 
. “Which?” 

Daniel hesitated, regretting that he had allowed these 
words to escape him. But he had gone too far now to re- 
tract. 

“I do not understand,” he replied, “how you can marry 
the Count de Ville-Handry.” 

“Why not?” 

“You are young, and I am told you are immensely rich. 
Now, the count is sixty-eight years old.” 

She, who had been so daring that nothing seemed likely 
to disconcert her, now lowered her head like a timid girl 
fresh from boarding-school, and a crimson flush suffused 
not merely her face, but even her neck and arms. 

“You are cruel, sir !” she stammered ; “the secret into 
which you pry is one of those which a girl hardly dares to 
confide to her mother.” 

Daniel’s eyes brightened with anticipated triumph, for 
he fancied he had caught her at last. 

“Ah, indeed !” said he, ironically. 

But without wavering, Miss Brandon replied : 

“You wish for an explanation; well, let it be so. For 
your sake, I will lay aside the reserve which girls are 
taught to retain in Such matters. I do not love the Count 
de Ville-Handry.” 

Daniel started, for this confession seemed to him the 
height of imprudence. 

“I do not love him — at least, not with real love, and I 
have never allowed him to hope for such a feeling. Still I 
shall be most happy to become his wife. Do not expect 
me to explain to you what is going on in my mind. I 
myself hardly understand it as yet. I can give no precise 
name to the feeling of sympathy which attracts me toward 
him. I have been captivated by his wit and kindness ; 


92 “WHAT A WOMAN!” 

his words have an indescribable charm for me. That is 
all I can tell you.” 

Daniel could scarcely believe his ears. 

“And,” she continued, “ if you must have motives of 
more ordinary character, I will confess to you that I can 
no longer endure this life, harassed as I am by such vile 
slander. M. de Ville-Handry’s residence appears to me 
an asylum, where I shall bury my disappointments and 
sorrow, and find peace, with a position commanding re- 
spect. Ah ! you need not be afraid for that great and 
noble name. I shall bear it worthily and nobly, and 
shrink from no sacrifice to enhance its splendor. You 
may say that I am a calculating woman. I dare say I 
am ; but I see nothing mean or disgraceful in my hopes. 

Daniel had thought he had confounded her, and it was 
she who crushed him by her bold frankness, for there was 
nothing to say, no reasonable objection to make. Fifty 
out of every hundred marriages in France are contracted 
under very similar circumstances. 

Gradually, one by one, Daniel’s suspicions fell to pieces. 

“Now, sir, you know me better than any other person 
in this world. You alone nave read the innermost heart 
of Sarah Brandon. And yet I see you to-day for the first 
time in my life. And yet you are the first man who has 
ever dared to speak harshly to me, harsh unto insult. 
Will you cause me to repent of my frankness ? Surely you 
will not be so cruel. I know you to be a man of honor and 
high principles ; I know how, in order to save a name 
which you revere, you have risked your prospects in life, 
the girl you love, and an enormous fortune. Yes, Mile, 
de Ville-Handry has made no ordinary choice.” And with 
a gesture of utter despondency she concluded, “ And I — I 
know my fate.” 

Then followed a pause, a terrible pause. They were 
standing face to face, quivering with excitement, their 
eyes eloquent with deep feeling. 

The air was impregnated with intoxicating floral per- 
fumes, charged as it were with all the subtle vapors of 
passion ; and, indeed, so enervating was the atmosphere 
that Daniel became almost unconscious of the surround- 
ings ; he had lost all control over his mind, the blood was 
rushing to his head, and his temples throbbed as if with 
some mysterious delirium. 

“Yes,” Miss Brandon began once more, in a tremulous 
tone. “Yes, my fate is sealed. I must become the Coun- 
tess de Ville-Handry, or I am lost. And once more, sir, I 


“I WILL FOLLOW HER!’ 


93 


beseech you to induce Mile. Henriette to receive me like 
an elder sister. Ah ! if t were the woman you think I am 
what should I care for Mile. Henriette and her enmity ? 
You know very well that the count will go on at any haz- 
ard. And yet I beg — I, who am accustomed to command 
everywhere. What more can I do ? Do you want to see 
me at your feet? Here I am.” And as she said this she 
really sank upon her knees, and clutching hold of Daniel’s 
hands, pressed them against her burning brow. “ Great 
Heaven !” she sighed, “ to be refused by him — by him 1” 

Her hair, which had become partially loosened, streamed 
over Daniel’s hands. He quivered from head to foot, and 
leaning forward raised and held her, half inanimate, with 
her head resting on his shoulder. 

“ Miss Brandon !” he gasped, in a hoarse, low voice. 

They were so near each other that their breath mingled, 
and Daniel could feel her bosom throbbing tumultuously 
against his heart, and burning him as it were with its 
unnatural heat. Drunk, so to say, with sudden passion, 
oblivious of everything, he pressed his yearning lips upon 
those of this strange girl. But with a sudden start she 
drew back, and cried : 

“ Daniel, you unhappy man !” Then bursting into tears 
she stammered, “Go! I beg you, go ! I ask for nothing 
now. If I must be lost I must.” 

With the vehemence of delirium he replied : 

“Your will be done, Sarah ; I am yours. You may count 
upon me. 

And then like a madman he rushed from the room, 
bounded down the stairs, and finding the front door open, 
he hurried out into the street. 


CHAPTER X. 

“I WILL FOLLOW HER!” 

It was an early winter that year ; there was a cold, 
biting wind, and the opaque clouds hung so low that it 
seemed as if they nearly touched the house-tops. As the 
blast whistled through the trees lining the Champs Ely- 
sees, and rustled among the shrubbery, Daniel feverishly 
hastened onward without aim or purpose — solely bent 
upon flight. But at last the keen wind and prolonged 
motion restored him to some degree of consciousness, and 
he realized that he was bare-headed, and scantily clothed, 


94 


“I WILL FOLLOW HER!” 


having left both his hat and overcoat at Miss Brandon’s 
house. Almost simultaneously he remembered that the 
Count de Ville Handry was waiting for him in the grand 
drawing-room, together with Sir Thomas Elgin and Mrs. 
Brian. What would they say and think? In what an 
awful predicament he had placed himself ! There might 
have been some means of escaping from his labyrinth, and 
now, in his folly, he had closed all outlets. It seemed as 
if he had had some singular, terrible dream ; he was like 
a drunkard, suddenly sobered, and seeking to remember 
what he has done while under the influence of alcohol. 
One by one he recalled the emotions through which he had 
passed during that hour just spent with Miss Brandon — 
an hour of madness which would weigh heavily upon his 
future fate, and whose sixty minutes had for him been 
fraught with more experience than all his life so far. 
What ! He had been warned, put upon bis guard, fully 
apprised of all Miss Brandon’s devices. De Brevan had 
acquainted him with the weird power of her eyes, and he 
himself had caught her that very evening openly deceiving 
others. And yet, despite all this, like a feeble, helpless 
fool, he had allowed himself to be fascinated by her. He 
had forgotten everything — even his darling Henriette, his 
sole thought for so many years. 

“Fool !” he said to himself, “what have I done?” 

Unmindful of the persistent blast, and of the snow now 
beginning to fall, he sat down on the steps of one of the 
houses at the end of the Rue du Cirque, and, with his 
elbows on his knees, he pressed his hands to his brow, as 
if to force his brain to suggest to him seme means of sal- 
vation. He tried to retrace the various phases of his inter- 
view with Miss Brandon in order to find out how, after 
beginning like a battle, it had ended as a love-scene. And 
thus recalling to memory all she had told him in her soft, 
sweet voice, he asked himself if she had not really been 
slandered. If there was truly anything amiss in her past 
life it might be that the fault rested with the equivocal 
personages watching over her — Sir Thomas Elgin and Mrs. 
Brian. What boldness she had displayed in her defense ! 
but also what lofty nobility ! How penetrating was her 
accent of sincerity when she admitted that she did not 
love the Count de Ville-Handry with real love— adding 
that until now no man had even succeeded in quickening 
her pulse. Was she then of marble, delighting only in 
foolish vanity ? No ; a thousand times no ! The most 
accomplished artist could never have spoken with that 


‘•I WILL FOLLOW HER!” 


95 


glowing, convincing intonation which is the sublime gift 
of. truth alone. Despite all Daniel’s efforts he could not 
forget her, and he trembled as he remembered certain 
words which had virtually betrayed the secret of her heart. 
Could she have said more pointedly, “The only man I could 
love is yourself ?” At this thought Daniel’s heart bounded 
with eager, unspeakable desires, for after all he was a 
man, neither worse nor better than his fellows, and there 
are but too many men nowadays who would value a few 
hours of happiness with such a woman as Miss Brandon 
more highly than a whole life-time of pure love beside a 
chaste and noble woman. “ Still, even if she loves me, ” 
he repeated, as his better nature regained the upper hand, 
“what is it to me ? Can I love her— I ?” 

He then tried to divine what might have happened since 
his flight from the house. How had Miss Brandon ex- 
plained his escape? How had she accounted for her own 
excitement ? Influenced by an invincible impulse, he rose 
and approached the house, and ensconced in the shadow of 
a door- way opposite he stood anxiously watching the win- 
dows, as if they could tell him what was going on inside. 
The grand drawing-room was still brilliantly illuminated, 
and the shadows of people passing to and fro within were 
cast repeatedly upon the white curtains. ' At one moment 
a man approached one of the windows, and after looking 
out suddenly drew back ; Daniel distinctly recognized him 
as the Count de Ville-Handry. What did it mean? Had 
Miss Brandon been suddenly taken ill, and were her peo- 
ple anxious about her? Such were Daniel’s thoughts, 
when the porte cochere of the house grated on its hinges. 
A servant threw it wide open, and then a small brougham 
drawn by a single horse emerged from inside and turned 
rapidly toward the Champs Elysees. Before this was 
accomplished, however, the light of one of the lamps 
affixed to the gateway had illuminated the interior of the 
vehicle, and, as at the beginning of the evening, Daniel 
recognized in its occupant — Miss Brandon. The shock 
was so great that he staggered. 

“She has deceived me !” he exclaimed, grindinghis teeth 
with rage ; “ she has treated me like an imbecile, an idiot.” 
Then suddenly conceiving a strange plan, he added, “ I 
must know where she is going at four o’clock in the morn- 
ing. I will follow her.” 

Unfortunately for him Miss Brandon’s coachman had 
appareptly received special orders, for he drove down the 
avenue as fast as the horse could go, and the animal was* 


96 


“I WILL FOLLOW HER !' 


an admirable trotter. Still Daniel was nimble ; and the 
hope of vengeance lent him wonderful strength and speed. 

“ If I could only meet a cab !” he thought. But no vehi- 
cle was to be seen, so with his elbows against his sides, 
and husbanding his breath he bounded after the brougham 
— so successfully, indeed, that for a moment he actually 
gained ground. When Miss Brandon reached the Place 
de la Concorde he was only a few yards behind her car- 
riage. But here the coachman touched up his horse, 
which suddenly increased its pace, crossed the place, and 
trotted swiftly up the Rue Royale. Daniel felt his breath 
failing him, and a stitch in his side, growing more acute 
every moment, impeded his farther progress. He was on 
the point of abandoning the pursuit when he perceived a 
cab approaching him from the Madeleine, the driver half 
asleep on the box. Throwing himself before the horses 
he cried : 

“ Driver, a hundred francs for you if you follow that 
brougham !” 

But the driver, suddenly roused in the middle of the 
street by a man with a bare head, and in evening costume, 
and who moreover offered him such an enormous fare, 
thought that some drunkard was trying to play him a 
practical joke, and furiously replied : 

“ Look out, you rascal ! Get out of the way or I’ll drive 
over you.” 

And so saying he whipped up his ho'rse with such effect 
that Daniel would have been driven over if he had not 
promptly jumped aside. This incident, brief as it may 
seem in words, had occupied some time, and when he 
looked for the brougham he perceived that it was already 
turning into the boulevard. It would have been arrant 
folly to attempt continuing pursuit. He must submit to 
his defeat. What could he do? It occurred to him that 
he might wake up Maxime, and ask him for advice. But 
no — fate was against him, and he gave up the idea. He 
walked slowly home, and threw himself into an arm- 
chair, determined not to go to bed till he had found some 
means of extricating himself from the consequences of his 
folly. But he had now spent two days in a state of scarcely 
imaginable excitement and anxiety. He had not closed 
his eyes for forty-eight hours, and despite himself he could 
not keep awake. Thus he fell asleep, dreaming that he 
was prosecuting his investigations concerning Miss Bran- 
don’s antecedents, and that he had found the right track 
at last. 


“I WILL FOLLOW HEE !” 


97 


It was broad daylight when he woke, chilled and stif- 
fened, for he had not changed his clothes on returning 
home, and his fire had gone out. His first impulse was 
one of wrath against himself for having slept. 

However, while he busied himself in kindling a large 
fire, he grew conscious that the rest had done him good. 
The last evil effects of his excitement the night before had 
passed away ; the charm that had fascinated him was 
broken ; and he once more felt master of all his faculties. 
While he was busy speculating as to the future his serv- 
ant entered the room carrying a hat and an overcoat on 
his arm. 

“Sir,” said the valet, smiling maliciously, “you forgot 
these things at the house where you spent the evening 
yesterday. A servant on horseback has just brought 
them, together with this letter, and is waiting for an an- 
swer. ” 

Daniel took the letter handed to him, and for a minute or 
more examined the direction. The handwriting was a 
woman’s, small and delicate, and having no affinity what- 
ever with the hideous long angular style of penmanship 
which English and American ladies habitually affect. At 
last he tore open the envelope, whence escaped a delicate 
but penetrating perfume, which he had inhaled, as he well 
remembered, in Miss Brandon’s rooms. The letter was, 
indeed, from her, and on the top of the page appeared her 
name, Sarah, in small blue Gothic characters. 

“Is it really so, O Daniel,” she wrote, “that you are entirely mine, 
and that I can count upon you ? You told me so to-night. Do you 
still remember your promises ? ” 

Daniel was thunderstruck. Miss Brandon had told him 
that she was imprudence personified ; and here she gave 
him positive proof of it. Might not these few lines become 
a terrible weapon against her ? Did they not admit of the 
most extraordinary interpretation ? He was .roused from 
his reverie by his servant asking : 

“ What shall I tell the man, sir ?” 

“ Ah, wait !” answered Daniel, angrily, and sitting down 
at his writing-table, he penned the following lines : 

“Certainly, Miss Brandon, I remember the promises you extorted 
from me when I was not' master of myself: I remember them but too 
well.” 

At this point a strange thought flashed through his mind, 
and he abruptly paused. What 1 After being caught in 


98 


“I WILL FOLLOW HER!” 


the very first trap she had set for his inexperience was he 
to risk falling into a second one ? He tore his unfinished 
letter to pieces, and, turning to his servant, exclaimed : 

“Tell the man I’m out, and make haste and get me a 
cab.” 

Then when he was once more alone he murmured : 

“ Yes, it is better so. It is much better to leave Miss 
Brandon in uncertainty. She cannot even suspect that I 
know of -her driving out this morning. She imagines I am 
still in the dark ; well, let her believe it.” 

Still this letter of hers seemed to presage some fresh in- 
trigue, the idea of which troubled Daniel exceedingly. 
Miss Brandon was certain of achievirg her end, what more 
did she want? What other mysterious aim could she 
have in view ? 

“Ah, I cannot make it out,” sighed Daniel. “I must 
consult} De Brevan. ” 

After swiftly changing his clothes he hurried down 
stairs, and while driving to his friend’s house pondered 
over the surprise that Maxime would undoubtedly evince 
at the news he had to communicate. When Daniel reached 
the Rue Lafitte he found M. De Brevan standing in his 
shirt sleeves before an immense marble table, covered 
with pots and bottles, combs, brushes, and sponges, pinc- 
ers, polishers, and files, engaged, in fact, in a most elabo- 
rate toilet. If Maxime in some degree expected Daniel he 
had certainly not expected him so early, for his features 
assumed an expression which seemed to prohibit all con- 
fidential talk. But Daniel was too preoccupied to notice 
this. He shook hands with his friend, sank heavily into 
an arm-chair, and exclaimed : 

“ I went to see Miss Brandon last night. She made me 
promise all she wanted. I cannot imagine how it came 
about. ” 

“Let us hear,” said M. de Brevan. 

Without the least hesitation Daniel then related how 
Miss Brandon had taken him into her boudoir, and excul- 
pated herself from all complicity in Malgat’s defalcations 
by showing him the letters the wretched man had written. 
“ Strange letters !” said he, “ which, if authentic ” 

M. de Brevan shrugged his shoulders. “You were 
warned,” he said, “and yet you promised all she wanted. 
Don’t you think she might have made you sign your own 
death-sentence ?” 

“ But Kergrist ?” exclaimed Daniel. “ Kergrist’s brother 
is her friend.” 


“I WILL FOLLOW HER Y 


99 


“ I dare say. But do you imagine he is any cleverer than 
you are ?” 

Although he was by no means satisfied Daniel proceeded 
with his narrative, describing his amazement when Miss 
Brandon told him that she did not really love the Count de 
Ville-Handry. 

“Ah, ha !” exclaimed Maxime, with a loud ironical laugh. 
“Of course. And then she went on, telling you that she 
had never yet loved anybody, having vainly looked for the 
man she dreamed of. She so described the phoenix to you, 
that you asked yourself, ‘ What does she mean ? Why she 
must mean me !’ And that idea tickled you prodigiously. 
Then she threw herself at your feet, and you raised her 
up ; she had fainted ; she sobbed like a distressed dove in 
your arms ; and you — well, you lost your head.” 

Daniel was overcome. 

“ How could you know that ?” he stammered. 

Maxime could not look his friend in the face, but his 
voice was as steady as ever as he replied, in a tone of bit- 
ter sarcasm : 

“ I guess it. Didn’t I tell you I knew Miss Brandon ? 
She has only one card in her hand, but it suffices ; it al- 
ways makes a trick.” 

To be deceived, and made ridiculous is one of those mis- 
fortunes which we confess to ourselves, but it is a very 
different matter to hear another person relate our ill luck, 
and laugh at our stupidity. Daniel, could not conceal his 
impatience, and dryly responded : 

“If I have been Miss Brandon’s dupe, my dear Maxime, 
I am so no longer, as you yourself can see.” 

“ Ah, ah ! indeed ?” 

“ No, not in the least. And, thanks to her, for she her- 
self destroyed my illusions.” 

“Pshaw !” 

“Unconsciously, of course. After running away from 
her like a fool I was wandering about the streets near her 
house, when I saw her drive away in her brougham.” 

“Oh, come, now.” 

“I saw her distinctly. It was four o’clock in the morn- 
ing, mind !” 

“ Is it possible ? And what did you do ?” 

“ I followed her.” 

M. de Brevan nearly dropped the brush with which he 
was polishing his finger-nails, but he mastered his confu- 
sion so promptly that Daniel did not perceive it. 

“Ah ! you followed her,” he exclaimed, in a voice which 


100 


“I WILL FOLLOW HER!” 


all his efforts could not completely steady. “Then, of 
course, you know where she went.” 

“ Unfortunately no, for she drove so fast that, quick as 
I am, I lost sight of her near the Madeleine.” 

M. de Brevan was certainly breathing more freely as he 
rejoined : 

“ How provoking, you lost a fine opportunity. However, 
I am by no means astonished that you are at last enlight- 
ened.” 

“Oh, I am so ; you may believe me. And yet ” 

“Well, yet?” 

Daniel hesitated, as if in fear of another sardonic smile 
from Maxime. However, making an effort he resumed : 

“Well, I am asking myself whether all that Miss Bran- 
don says about her childhood, family, and fortune might 
not, after all, be true.” 

Maxime assumed the expression of a sensible man who is 
forced to listen to a lunatic’s nonsense. 

“You think I am absurd,” said Daniel. “Perhaps I am ; 
but, then, pray explain to me how is it that Miss Brandon, 
who, if she is an adventuress, must be anxious to conceal 
her past, has pointed out to me the very means of ascer- 
taining everything about her, and even of learning the 
precise amount of her income ? America is not so far off !” 

M. de Brevan’s face no longer expressed astonishment ; 
he looked absolutely bewildered. 

“ What !” cried he, “do you seriously think of undertak- 
ing a trip to America ?” 

“Why not?” 

“Ah, my dear friend, excuse my saying if, but really 
you are altogether too simple for your age. What ! haven’t 
you yet been able to divine the meaning of that sugges- 
tion ? And yet it is patent enough. When Miss Brandon 
saw you, and had taken your measure, she said to herself, 
‘This excellent young man is in my way, he must try a 
change of air a few thousand miles off. ’ And thereupon 
she suggested to you that pleasant trip to America. ” 

After what Daniel had heard of Miss Brandon’s charac- 
ter this explanation sounded by no means improbable. 
Still, as he was not quite satisfied, he exclaimed : 

“Whether I go or stay the wedding will still take place, 
so that she has no real interest in my being abroad. Be- 
lieve me, Maxime, there is something else underneath. 
Besides this marriage Miss Brandon must be pursuing 
some other plan.” 

“What plan?” 


“I WILL FOLLOW HER !’ 


101 


“ Ah ! That’s what I can’t find out. But depend upon 
it, I am not mistaken. I need no better evidence than the 
fact that she wrote to me this moraine;.” 

“ What ! She has written to you 2” exclaimed Maxime, 
starting up. 

“Yes, and it is that cursed letter more than anything 
else that brings me here. Just read it, and if you can 
understand its meaning you are more fortunate than I 
am.” 

M. de Brevan read the five lines of Miss Brandon’s mis- 
sive at a glance. 

“ It is incomprehensible,” said he, turning very pale. “ A 
note, and such an indiscreet one, too, from a woman who 
never writes.” 

M. de Brevan had at last finished his careful toilet. 
Donning a dressing-gown he now adjourned with Daniel 
into his sitting-room, where, ensconcing himself in an easy 
chair, and assuming the professional air of a physician 
questioning a patient, he asked : 

“ And what have you said in reply ?” 

“Nothing.” 

“That’s right, and for the future I advise you to follow 
the same plan. Don’t say a word. Can you do anything 
to prevent Miss Brandon from carrying out her purpose ? 
No ! Let her go on, then. It is not only your own inter- 
est to act in this fashion, but Mile. Henriette’s irterest as 
well. You will be inconsolable on the day you are parted ; 
but you yourself will at lea^t be free to act. Mile. Henri- 
ette, on the other hand, will be compelled to live under the 
same roof with Miss Brandon ; and you don’t know what 
a step-mother can do to torture her husband’s child.” 

Daniel trembled. He had already thought of that con- 
tingency, and the idea had made him shudder. 

“For the present,” continued De Brevan, “the most im- 
portant thing is to find out how your flight has been ex- 
plained. We may be able to draw our conclusions from 
what has been said on the subject.” 

“I’ll try to find that out at once,” replied Daniel, and 
after shaking hands with Maxime he hurried down stairs 
to his cab, and bade the driver convey him as fast as pos- 
sible to the Count de Ville-Handry’s mansion. 

The count was at home — walking up and down his study 
in the most excited manner. Something serious had evi- 
dently occurred, for although it was nearly noon he had 
not yet intrusted himself to his valet’s artistic hands. 
Directly Daniel was ushered into the room he stopped 


102 “I WILL FOLLOW HEE !” 

short, and crossing his arms over his chest angrily ex- 
claimed : 

“Ah ! here you are, M. Champcey. Well, you are behav- 
ing nicely.” 

“I, count? How so?” 

“How so? Who else overwhelmed Miss Sarah with in- 
sults at the very time when she was trying to explain 
everything to you ? Who else, ashamed of his scandalous 
conduct, ran away, not daring to remain in the house ?” 

“ Believe me, count, I am too much of a gentleman to in- 
sult a woman.” 

“Oh, pray, spare me a useless rigmarole,” cried M. de 
Ville-Handry, rudely interrupting him. “Besides, I don’t 
blame you particularly. I know the heart of man "well 
enough to realize that you did not so much follow your 
own inspirations as my daughter’s suggestions.” 

Such an idea on the count’s part was ominous, and Dan- 
iel hastily made another effort at explanation. But the 
count stamped his foot and fiercely cried : 

“ No more ! I mean to put a stop to all this absurd oppo- 
sition at once. Am I no longer master in my own house ? 
Am I to be treated like a servant, and laughed at into the 
bargain? Ah! I’ll show you all who’s the master.” 
Growing a trifle calmer after this outburst he continued, 
“Ah, M. Champcey ! I didn’t expect this from you. Poor 
Sarah ! To think that I could not spare her such a humil- 
iation. But it is the last, and this very day, as soon as 
she wakes, she shall know that! all is ended. I have just 
sent for my daughter to tell her that the wedding-day is 
fixed. All the formalities are fulfilled. We have the 
necessary papers ” 

He paused, for at this moment Henriette entered the 
room. 

“You wish to speak to me, papa?” she asked. 

“Yes.” 

Greeting Daniel with a sweet glance Henriette ap- 
proached the count, and offered him her forehead to kiss, 
but he waved her back, and assuming an air of supreme 
solemnity, exclaimed : 

“ I have sent for you, my daughter, to inform you that 
to-morrow fortnight I shall marry Miss Brandon.” 

Henriette must have been prepared for something of the 
kind, for she did not evince any great emotion. Her feel- 
ings only betrayed themselves in her sudden pallor, and 
the ray of wrath which for one second shot from her eyes. 

“ Under these circumstances,” continued ,the count, “ it is 


“I WILL FOLLOW HER !” 


103 


not proper or decent that you should remain a stranger to 
the angel who is to be your mother, and I shall therefore 
introduce you to her this very afternoon.” 

The young girl gently shook her head, and replied : 

“ No 1” 

“ What !” cried the count, flushing crimson. “You dare ! 
What would you say if I threatened to carry you forciby 
to Miss Brandon’s house?” 

“ I should say, father, that that is the only way to make 
me go there. ” 

Her attitude was firm, though not defiant. She spoke in 
a calm, gentle voice, but it was evident that she had taken 
an unchangeable resolution. 

“Then you detest, you envy Miss Brandon?” rejoined M. 
de Ville-Handry, quite amazed at the audacity shown by 
this usually timid girl. 

“ I, father ? Why should I ? I only know that she can- 
not become the Countess de Ville-Handry, after filling all 
Paris with evil reports.” 

“Who has told you so? M. Champcey, no doubt.” 

“Everybody has told me so, father.” 

“So, because she has been slandered, the poor girl ” 

“ I am willing to think she is innocent, but the Countess 
de Ville-Handry should be above suspicion.” As she spoke 
Henrietta raised herself to her full height, and then in a 
louder voice she added, “ You are master here, father, and 
can do as you choose. But I — I owe it to myself, and to 
my mother’s memory, to protest by all means in my pow- 
er, and I shall protest.” 

The count stammered and stared. The blood was rising 
to his head. 

“At last I know and understand you, Henriette,” cried 
he. “I was not mistaken. It was you who sent M. 
Champcey to Miss Brandon to insult her at her own house.” 

“ Sir !” interrupted Daniel, in a threatening tone. 

But the count could not be restrained, and with his eyes 
almost starting from their sockets, he continued : 

“ Yes, I read your innermost heart, Henriette. You are 
afraid of losing a part of your inheritance.” 

Stung by this insult, Henriette rejoined : 

“But don’t you see, father, that it is this woman who 
wants your fortune, and that she does not love you, and 
cannot do so.” 

“ Why, if you please ?” 

Grasping her father's arm and drawing him toward a 
looking-glass she exclaimed, in a hoarse voice ; 


104 


“I WILL FOLLOW HEB!” 


“You ask me why? Well, look there! look at your- 
self !” 

If the count had contented himself with trusting nature 
he would have looked barely sixty — or some ten years 
younger than he really was ; but his partiality for the 
artifices of the toilet-table had spoiled everything ; and on 
this occasion, with his scanty hair half white and half 
dyed, with the rouge and paint of yesterday cracked and 
fallen away in places, he was certainly a sorry spectacle, 
indeed. Did he see himself in the looking-glass as he 
really was — hideous ? At all events he turned livid, and 
with bitter, concentrated rage exclaimed : 

“You infamous girl.” 

Then as she burst into sobs, terrified as much by her 
own audacity as by his words, he continued : 

“No acting, please. At four o’clock precisely I shall 
send for you. If I find you dressed, and ready to accom- 
pany me to Miss Brandon’s house, all right. If not M. 
Champcey has been here for the last'time in his life, and 
you will never — do you hear ? — never be his wife. Now I 
will leave you alone together ; you can reflect.” 

So saying he left the room, closing the door so violently 
that the whole house seemed to shake. 

No more hope ; both Henriette and Daniel were crushed 
by this certain conviction. The crisis could no longer be 
postponed. In a few hours’ time the mischief would be 
done. Daniel was the first to shake off the stupor of de- 
spair, and taking Henriette by the hand he asked her : 

“You have heard what your father said. What will 
you do ?” 

“ What I said I would, whatever it may cost me. You 
will understand my decision all the better,” she continued, 

“ when I tell you what a strange discovery I have made. 
This morning a gentleman, who said he was a lawyer, 
called here, and asked to see the Count de Ville-Handry, 
with whom, he declared, he had a most important appoint- 
ment. The servants told him their master was out, where- 
upon he became angry, declared it wasn’t possible, and 
talked so loud that I came to see what was the matter. 
Directly he saw me, and found out who I was he quieted 
down, and begged me to take charge of the draft of a legal 
paper which he had been directed to prepare, and which 
he desired me to hand to my father. I promised to do so, 
but as I was carrying the paper up stairs to lay it on my 
father’s writing-table I happened to look at it. Do you 


‘I WILL FOLLOW HER !’ 


105 


know what it was ? The statutes of a new speculative 
company, of which my father was to be chairman.” 

“ Good heavens ! Is it possible ?” 

“Yes, unfortunately. Just under the title of the com- 
pany I read, ‘The Count de Ville-Handry, Chairman and 
Chief Director,’ after which all his other titles and digni- 
ties were enumerated, together with the high offices he has 
filled, and the French and foreign decorations he has re- 
ceived.” 

Daniel could no longer doubt. 

“Ah !” said he, “we knew that they would try to obtain 
possession of your father’s fortune, and now we have proof 
of it. But what can we do against their cunning maneu- 
vers?” 

Bowing her head she answered, in a tone of resignation : 

“ I have heard it said that the mere presence of an inof- 
fensive child is often sufficient to intimidate the boldest 
criminals, and frighten them away. If God wills it so that 
shall be my part.” Then as Daneil tried once more to in- 
sist she resumed, “You forget, my dear friend, that this 
is, perhaps for many years, the last time we shall ever be 
alone together. Let us think of the future. I have se- 
cured the services of one of my maids, to whom you must 
direct your letters. Her name is Clarisse Pontois. If any 
grave, unforeseen emergency should necessitate our see- 
ing one another Clarisse will bring you the key of the lit- 
'tle garden gate, and you will come.” 

Both of them had their eyes filled with tears, and the 
anguish of their hearts increased as the hands of the clock 
revolved round the dial. They knew they would have to 
part, and could they hope ever to meet again ? It had just 
struck four o’clock when M. de Ville-Handry reappeared. 
Stung to the quick by what he called his daughter’s insult- 
ing remarks, he had stimulated his valet’s zeal with such 
effect that the latter had evidently surpassed himself in 
the arrangement of his master’s hair, and especially in 
freshening his complexion. 

“Well, Henriette?” asked the count. 

“My decision remains unchanged, father.” • 

The count was probably prepared for this answer, for he 
momentarily succeeded in controlling his temper. 

“Once more, Henriette,” he said, “ consider ! Don’t de- 
cide rashly, relying simply upon odious slanders.” 

So saying he drew from his pocket a photograph, gave 
it a loving look, and handing it to his daughter, added : 

“Here is Miss Brandon’s portrait. Look at it, and tell 


/ 


106 


DANIEL’S PROMOTION. 


me if the woman to whom God has given such a charming 
face and such sublime eyes can have a bad heart. ” 

Henriette examined the likeness attentively, and return- 
ing it to her father, coldly replied : 

“This woman is certainly beautiful. Now I can explain 
to myself that new company of which you are to be the 
chairman.” 

The count turned pale at this unexpected answer. 

“Unhappy child! Unhappy child!” he cried. “You 
dare insult an angel ?” 

Mad with rage, he had raised his hand, and was about 
to strike his daughter, when Daniel seized his wrist and 
threateningly exclaimed : 

“ Ah, sir, have a care ! have a care !” 

Giving the young officer a look of concentrated hatred 
the count freed himself, and pointed to the door. 

“ M. Champcey,” he said, “ I order you to leave this houes 
instantly, and I forbid your ever entering it again. My 
servants will be informed that if one of them ever allows 
you to cross the threshold of this house he will be instantly 
dismissed. Go, sir.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

DANIEL’S PROMOTION. 

Four-and-twenty hours after Daniel, pale and stagger- 
ing, turned his back on the Count de Ville-Handry’s man- 
sion, he had not yet recovered from this last blow. The 
situation was desperate, indeed. He had made a mortal 
enemy of the man whom it was his greatest interest to 
conciliate ; and the latter, who of his own accord would 
have parted with him regretfully, had now turned him 
disgracefully out of his house. He was still cursing for- 
tune, and shrinking from contact with the future, when, 
to his great surprise, a letter reached him from Henriette! 
Thus it wa^ she who anticipated him, and who, realizing 
how desperate he must be, had sufficient tact to write to 
him almost cheerfully. 

“Immediately after your departure, my dear Daniel, my father or- 
dered me to my own room, and decided that I should stay there till I 
became more reasonable. I know I shall remain there a long time. 
What we need most of all, oh, my friend ! is courage. Will you have 
as much as your Henriette ? ” 


DANIEL’S PROMOTION. 107 

“ She is right,” exclaimed Daniel, moved to tears ; “ what 
we need is courage — I must be brave.” 

And with the view of shaking off his despair, and recov- 
ering that calmness which would be requisite when the 
hour of action sounded, he vowed he would return to 
work. But this was more easily said than done, for he 
found that he could not divert his thoughts from his mis- 
fortunes. He was disgusted now with the studies which 
had once delighted him. It seemed as if the balance of 
his life was utterly destroyed. Thus he still led the ex- 
istence of a desperate man. He had spent a week or so in 
this condition, when one morning, just as he was going 
out, his bell rang. He went to the door, and was con- 
fronted by a lady, who, without saying a word, swiftly 
walked in, and promptly shut the door behind her. Al- 
though she was enveloped in a long cloak which completely 
hid her figure, and wore a thick vail before her face, Dan- 
iel recognized her at once. 

“ Miss Brandon !” he exclaimed. 

In the meantime she had raised her vail. 

41 Yes, it is I,” she replied, “risking another slander in 
addition to all the others that have been raised against 
me, Daniel.” 

Amazed at a step which seemed to him the height of 
imprudence, he remained standing in the antechamber, 
and did not even think of inviting Miss Brandon to enter 
his sitting-room. She entered it of her own accord, how- 
ever, and when he had followed her she resumed : 

“ I came, sir, to ask you what ynu have done with the 
promise you gave me the other night at my house ?” 

A pause followed, and as Daniel did not reply she con- 
tinued, “ Come, I see you are like all the others. When 
men pledge their word to other men, who are a match for 
them, they consider it a point of honor to keep it ; but if 
the promise is given to a woman they toss it aside, and 
boast of having done so.” 

While she was speaking Daniel could scarcely control 
himself, but she pretended not to notice his agitation, and 
coldly pursued : 

“ I — I have a better memory than you , sir, and I mean to 
prove it to you. I know what has happened at M. de 
Yille-Handry’s houso; he has told me everything. You 
allowed yourself to be carried away so far as to raise your 
hand against him.” 

“ He was going to strike his daughter, and I withheld his 
arm.” 


108 


DANIEL’S PROMOTION. 


“No, sir ; my dear count is incapable of such violence, 
and yet his own daughter had dared to taunt him with his 
weakness, pretending that he had been induced by me to 
establish a speculative company. And you — you allowed 
Mile. Henriette to say all these absurd offensive things. 
The idea of my inducing the count to engage in an enter- 
prise where money might be lost ! What interest could I 
have in doing so ? Money ! The world can think of no 
other motive nowadays. Money ! I have enough of it. If 
I marry the count you know why I do it — you ! And you 
also know that it depended, and perhaps at this moment 
still depends, upon one single man whether I break off that 
match this very day or not.” 

As she spoke she looked at him in a manner which would 
all but have caused a statue to tremble on its pedestal. 

But he, with his heart full of hatred, retained his previ- 
ous frigid manner, enjoying the revenge which was thus 
presented to him. 

“I will believe whatever you wish to say,” he replied, 
in a mocking tone, “if you will answer me a single ques- 
tion. ” 

“Ask, sir.” 

“The other night, when I left you, where did you go in 
your carriage?” 

He expected she would become confused, turn pale, and 
stammer. Not at all. 

“Ah ! you know that?” she said, with an accent of ad- 
mirable candor. “ Ah ! I committed almost as imprudent 
an act as I am doing now. Suppose some fool only saw 
me leave your rooms ?” 

“ Excuse me, but that is no answer. Where did you 
go?” And as she remained silent, surprised by Daniel’s 
firmness, he added, sneeringly, “Then you confess it 
would be madness to believe you ? Let us break off here, 
and pray God that I may be able to forget all the wrong 
you have done me.” 

Miss Brandon’s beautiful eyes filled with tears of grief 
or rage. Folding her hands she exclaimed, in a suppliant 
tone : 

“I beg you, M. Champcey, grant me’ only five minutes. 

I must speak to you. If you knew ” 

He could not lay hands on a woman to turn her out, so 
making her a low bow he withdrew into his bedroom, clos- 
ing the door behind him. Then at once applying his eye 
to the keyhole he perceived Miss Brandon, whose features 


DANIEL’S PROMOTION. 109 

were convulsed with rage, threaten him with her clenched 
hand, and hastily leaving the room. 

“ She was going to dig another pit for me,” thought Dan- 
iel. And the idea that he had avoided it made him, for at 
least some hours, forget his sorrow. 

On the following day, however, on returning home from 
one of his usual rambles, he found an official package 
awaiting him. It contained two letters, one of which in- 
formed him that he was promoted to the rank of a lieuten- 
ant ; while the other ordered him to report four days hence 
at Rochefort, on board the frigate “Conquest,” now lying 
in the roadstead, and waiting for two battalions of marines 
to be transferred to Cochin China. Daniel had for long 
years, and with all a young man’s eager ambition, desired 
the promotion now granted him — the first etape toward 
distinguished rank. But now that his oft-repeated wishes 
were realized, far from experiencing delight, he almost 
gave way to a feeling of despair. For with the news of 
his promotion came the fatal order to a distant land. Why 
was such an order sent to him ? He occupied at the minis- 
try a post in which he could render valuable services, 
while so many of his comrades, idly waiting in port, were 
anxiously watching for a chance to go into active service. 

“Ah !” he exclaimed suddenly, as a fresh thought filled 
his heart with rage, “Miss Brandon has had a hand in this ; 
I ought to have seen it at once.” 

She had begun by having him banished from the Count 
de Ville-Handry’s house, so that he and Henriette might 
neither meet nor speak together, and now she was intent 
on raising another barrier between them — one of those 
obstacles which no lover’s ingenuity could overcome — a 
thousand miles of ocean. 

“No, no!” he cried, in his anguish, “it shall not be. 
Rather give up my career — rather send in my resignation.” 

Hence, on the following morning he donned his uniform, 
determined to lay the matter, first of all, before the officer 
who was his immediate superior, and resolved, if he did 
not succeed with him, to apply to the minister in person. 
Daniel’s superior was a worthy old captain, an excellent 
man in reality, but who had so long assumed the manner 
of a stern official that he had finished by altogether becom- 
ing what he merely wisl^ed to appear. When Daniel en • 
tered his office he fancied he came to inform him of his 
promotion, so making a great effort to smile he hailed him 
with these words, “Well, Lieutenant Champcey, we are 
satisfied, I hope ?” But perceiving immediately afterward 


110 


DANIEL’S PEOMOTION. 


that Daniel did not wear the epaulets of his new rank, he 
added, “ Why, how’s that, lieutenant ? Perhaps you have 
not yet heard ” 

“I beg your pardon, captain,” answered Daniel. 

“ Why on earth, then, have you no epaulets?” rejoined 
the official, frowning, as if he thought such carelessness 
augured ill for the service. 

Daniel excused himself as well as he could, which was 
very little, and then boldly approached the purpose of his 
visit. “ I have received an order for active service.” 

“I know — on board ‘The Conquest,’ now in the road- 
stead at Eochefort, and bound for Cochin China.” 

“ I have to be at my post in four days.” 

“And you think the time too short? It is short. But 
impossible to grant you ten minutes more. ” 

“ I don’t ask for leave of absence, captain ; I want the 
favor — to be allowed to keep my place here.” 

The old officer could hardly retain his seat. 

“You would prefer not to go on board ship,” he ex- 
claimed, “ the very day after your promotion ? Ah, come, 
you are mad !” 

Daniel shook his head sadly. “Believe me, captain,” he 
replied, “I obey the most imperative duty.” 

Leaning back in his chair, with his eyes fixed on the ceil- 
ing, the captain seemed as if he were looking for some such 
duty. “ Is it your family that keeps you ?” he suddenly 
asked. 

“ I have no family.” 

“ Are you going to be married immediately ?” 

“Unfortunately, no.” 

“ Perhaps your fortune is in danger ?” 

“No, captain.” 

“Then what the devil do you mean with your imperative 
duty ?” cried the old officer. 

“It is a matter of life and death with me, captain,” 
pleaded Daniel. “ And if you only knew my reasons ; if I 
could tell them ” 

“ Eeasons which can’t be told are always bad ones. I 
insist upon your going.” 

“Then, captain, I shall be compelled, to my infinite sor- 
row, to insist upon offering my resignation.” 

The old officer rose, and paced the room, giving vent to 
his anger in oaths of various kinds, then suddenly halting 
in front of Daniel, he dryly remarked : 

“ If that is so the case is serious ; I must report it to the 
minister in person. What time is it? Eleven o’clock. 


DANIEL’S PROMOTION. 


Ill 


Come nere again at half -past twelve. I shall have settled 
the matter then.” 

Quite certain that his superior would say nothing in his 
favor, Daniel retired. 

On leaving home he had only intended to offer his resig- 
nation as an extreme measure, but now he was determined 
to leave the service, no matter what the minister might 
say. Had he not an ample income of his own, and could 
he not always find honorable employment ? This course 
would be far preferable to continuing in a profession where 
a man is never his own master, but always liable to be 
ordered, at a moment’s warning, to Heaven knows what 
part of the world. Thus did he reason while lunching in 
the neighborhood, and when he returned to the ministry, 
shortly after noon, he already looked upon himself as no 
longer belonging to the navy. 

It was the audience hour, and the anteroom was crowd- 
ed with officers of every rank, some in uniform, and others 
in civilian costume. The conversation was very animated, 
for Daniel could hear the hum of voices from the vesti- 
bule. He entered the antechamber, however, and at once 
all became silent. Plainly enough the assembled officers 
had been talking about him. Additional evidence of this 
was furnished by the forced smiles and cautious glances 
with which he was received. 

“What can it mean ?” he asked himself, inwardly dis- 
turbed. 

At this moment a young fellow in civilian dress, with 
whom Daniel was unacquainted, called out across the room 
to an old officer in a seedy uniform — a lean, sunburned, 
wrinkled old sea-dog, whose eyes bore traces of recent 
ophthalmia, “Why do you stop, lieutenant? We were 
much interested, I assure you.” 

The officer appealed to hesitated for a moment, as if he 
were making up his mind to perform a disagreeable duty, 
and then resumed : 

“Well, we got there, convinced that we had taken all 
necessary precautions, and that there was, consequently, 
nothing to fear — fine precautions they proved ! In the 
course of a week the whole crew was laid up, while as for 
the staff little Bertram and myself were the only officers 
able to appear on deck. Moreover, my eyes were in a state. 
You see what they are now. The captain was the first to 
die, and the same evening five sailors followed suit, and 
seven the next day. The day after we lost our first lieu- 


112 


DANIEL’S PROMOTION. 


tenant and two non-commissioned officers. The like was 
never seen before.” 

Daniel turned to his neighbor. 

“ Who is that officer ?” he asked. 

“ Lieutenant Dutac of ‘ The Valorous,’ just returned from 
Cochin China.” 

Light was dawning in Daniel’s mind. 

“When did ‘The Valorous’ come in?” he asked again. 

“She made the port of Brest six days ago.” 

“And so, you see,” continued the old lieutenant, “ we had 
heavy losses out there. The fighting wasn’t of so much 
account, though the people are true gallows birds, and gave 
us some little trouble. But the climate, ah ! Algeria is 
nothing in comparison !” 

“Ay,” quoth the young fellow in civilian dress, “I’ve 
heard that said before. Well, no doubt, you are glad to 
be home again.” 

“As for that, of course, one can hardly be sorry. Still, 
if they order me out again I must naturally go. Some one 
must go, as you know, for reinforcements are sadly needed. 
Perhaps I shouldn’t mind seeing another man in my place 
— but, after all, as we sailors are bound to be eaten by the 
fish some rime or other, it doesn’t much matter when it 
happens.” 

Under a trivial form this remark conveyed to Daniel a 
most impressive lesson. An officer does not resign when 
under orders to face the enemy. Plainly enough the loung- 
ers in the anteroom had been discussing his resignation 
prior to his arrival, and, no doubt, they attributed it to 
fear. The idea that he might be suspected of cowardice 
fairly unnerved Daniel. What could he do to prove that 
he was not a coward ? Should he challenge every one of 
these men, and fight a score of duels? Would that prove 
that he had not shrunk from the unknown perils of a dis- 
tant campaign — from hardship, privation, and disease? 
No ; unless he was determined to remain a marked man 
for life he must withdraw his resignation, and start at 
once. Accordingly, stepping toward Lieutenant Dutac, he 
exclaimed, in a voice loud enough to be heard by every 
one in the room, “ I had just been ordered to the place you 
come from, lieutenant, and had sent in my resignation ; 
but after what you have said — things I really knew noth- 
ing of — I shall go.” 

There was a murmur of approbation, and some one was 

heard to exclaim : . , 

“Ah, I was sure of it.” . . . — .1 


DANIEL’S PROMOTION. 


113 


Daniel at once realized, by the sudden change of every 
one’s manner, that he had chosen the only way to save his 
honor, seriously compromised a moment before. How- 
ever, although satisfied with himself, he could not help 
thinking that the scene he had just witnessed was, on the 
whole, a very extraordinary one. Was he not the victim 
of some diabolical intrigue ? Assuming that Miss Bran- 
don had caused the minister to order him into active serv- 
ice, might she not also have taken every step to compel 
him to obey that order? Were all the individuals in civil- 
ian dress, lounging about the -anteroom, really naval offi- 
cers? The young fellow who had asked Lieutenant Duta-c 
to go on with his story had disappeared, and despite Dan- 
iel’s repeated inquiries no one present could say who he 
was. Soon afterward Daniel was summoned into his 
superior’s presence. 

“I’ll follow your advice, captain,” he said, as he crossed 
the threshold of the office, “and in three days I shall be on 
board ‘ The Conquest. ’ ” 

The captain’s face cleared up, and he replied, approv- 
ingly : 

“Very good ! You did well to change your mind, for 
your business began to look ugly. The minister was doubt- 
ful whether you were in your senses, and I agree with 
him, for he tells me that you yourself solicited this ap- 
pointment on foreign service in urgent terms.” 

“His excellency is mistaken,” stammered Daniel, in 
amazement. 

“ Ah ! I beg your pardon ; I have myself seen your letter.” 

Daniel already realized a portion of the truth. 

“ I wish I could see it, too,” cried he. “ Captain, I beseech 
you, show me that letter. ” 

The old officer almost began to think that Champcey was 
really not in his right mnid. 

“I have not got it,” he answered. “ It’s among your 
papers in the Bureau for Personal Affairs.” 

Daniel hurried to the office mentioned to him, and after 
some little trouble obtained permission to look at his pa- 
pers. On opening the portfolio handed to him the first 
thing he perceived was a letter, dated two days before, in 
which he urgently requested the minister to grant him the 
special favor of being dispatched with the expedition to 
Cochin China on board the frigate “ Conquest. ” Daniel 
was, of course, quite sure that he had written no such let- 
ter. But the handwriting was so precisely like his own, 
letter for letter, and the signature particularly was so ad- 


114 


THE POWER OF ATTORNEY. 


mirably imitated, that he felt for a moment utterly bewil- 
dered, mistrusting, as it were, his own eyes and reason. 
The forgery was so admirable that if the matter had been 
one of ordinary importance, and the letter had been dated 
a fortnight or so previously, he would certainly have sus- 
pected his memory rather than the document before him. 
Plainly enough this letter had been written at Miss Bran- 
don’s instigation, and, no doubt, one of her accomplices, 
perhaps the great Sir Tom himself, had penned it. Ah ! 
now, Daniel understood the adventuress’ insolent assur- 
ance when she insisted upon his taking poor Malgat’s let- 
ters, saying, “Go and show them to the clerks who knew 
him during so many years, they will tell you if they were 
written by him or not.” No one would have opined that 
Malgat’s letters were forgeries, and yet, no doubt, the un- 
fortunate cashier’s handwriting had been imitated with 
the same distressing perfection as his own. Could he 
profit by this strange discovery ? Ought he to mention it ? 
What would be the use? Would he be believed if he 
charged Miss Brandon with forgery ? Would an investi- 
gation even be consented to, and if so what would be its 
result ? Could he hope to find an expert prepared to swear 
that he had not written this letter, when he himself, if 
each line had been presented to him separately, would have 
felt bound to acknowledge it as his own handwriting ? 
Was it not far more probable, on the contrary, that, after 
his conduct in the morning, his charges would be ascribed 
to a mistake, or interpreted as some weak invention on his 
part to cover his retreat. Hence, it was best to remain 
silent, and defer revenge till a later day, when his plans 
being fully matured, he would be able" to crush Sarah 
Brandon and her accomplices once and forever. Still, he 
did not wish the false letter, which might become a for- 
midable piece of evidence against him, to remain among 
his papers, for, no doubt, Miss Brandon would soon find 
an opportunity of having it withdrawn. He obtained per- 
mission to copy it, and having done so succeeded, without 
being seen, in substituting his copy for the original. 
Then, knowing he had no time to lose, he hurried away, 
and jumping into a passing cab drove to M. de Brevan’s. 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE POWER OF ATTORNEY. 

Despite the thought of his approaching separation from 
Henriette, Daniel felt wonderfully relieved now that he 


THE POWER OF ATTORNEY. 


115 


had taken an irrevocable decision. But for his rankling 
hatred of Sarah Brandon, his mind would almost have 
been at peace. On reaching the Rue Lafitte he found that 
Maxime had just returned home after breakfasting with 
some friends at the Cafe Anglais. In a dozen words he 
told him everything, and then producing the forged letter, 
which he attributed to Miss Brandon’s literary attainments 
and Sir Tom’s penmanship, he handed it to his friend. 
While Maxime launched forth i-nto exclamations of won- 
der and indignation he resumed : 

“ Now, my dear fellow, pray, listen to me. It may be 
that I may have to intrust you with my last will and tes- 
tament.” 

“Don’t take such a gloomy look of things,” pleaded M. 
de Brevan. 

“Oh, I know what I’m saying. I certainly do not hope 
to die out there, but the climate is murderous, and I may 
encounter a bullet or a shell. It is always best to be pre- 
pared. Now, you alone, Maxime, are acquainted with all 
my private affairs. I have no secret from you. If I have 
friends whom I have known longer, at all events, I have 
none in whom I feel more confidence. Besides, my old 
friends are all sailors — memwho, like myself, may be at 
any moment dispatched Heaven only knows where. Now, 
I need a safe, reliable, and experienced man, possessing 
both prudence and energy, and who is certain not to leave 
Paris. Will you be that man, Maxime?” 

Rising from his seat, and pressing his right hand against 
his heart, M. de Brevan warmly replied : 

“ Between us, Daniel, oaths are useless don’t you think 
so ? Therefore, I will simply say, you may count upon 
me.” 

“And I do count upon you,” exclaimed Daniel, “yes, 
blindly and absolutely, and I am going to give you strik- 
ing proof of it. In leaving France my one great source of 
torment is that I am compelled to leave Henriette in the 
hands of the enemy. Miss Brandon must be meditating 
some terrible blow, or she would not have been so anxious 
to exile me. Now, Maxime, I ask you to watch over Hen- 
riette. I intrust her to you as I would intrust her to my 
brother, if I had one. To-morrow evening I shall see her, 
and acquaint her with the new misfortune which has be- 
fallen us. I shall take leave of her at the same time. I 
know she will be terrified, but to reassure her I shall ex- 
plain to her that I leave a friend behind me — my alter ego — 
ready to assist her at her first summons, and prepared to 


116 


THE POWER OF ATTORNEY. 


incur any danger when her interests are at stake. I shall 
tell her to appeal to you as if to myself ; to write to you as 
she used to write to me ; to keep you informed of all they 
may attempt ; to consult and obey you without hesitation. 
As for what you will have to do, Maxime, I can only speak 
in a general way, as I know nothing of Miss Brandon’s 
plans. I rely upon your experience to do what is most ex- 
pedient. Still, there is one possibility which I can already 
foresee. It may be that life at home will become intoler- 
able, and that Henriette will be anxious to leave her fath- 
er’s house. Even if she should not wish to do so you may 
think it inexpedient for her to remain there, and have to 
advise escape. In either case you must confide Henriette 
to the care of an old lady, a relative of mine, who lives at 
Hosiers, a little village in the department of Maine-et- 
Loire, and whose address I will give you before starting. 
At the same time I will inform her of what may happen. 
The only question now is to provide means for carrying 
out these measures, and other possible contingencies. 
Although my means are modest I can, by selling some 
shares, realize enough to secure you against any urgent 
embarrassment. Besides, I have property in Anjou, 
worth from two to three hundred thousand francs, and I 
mean to sell it.” 

“Eh?” ejaculated de Brevan, with surprise. 

“Yes, I mean to sell it. You heard right. I shall only 
retain my old home, my father’s house, with the little 
garden in front, and the adjoining orchard and meadow. 
My father and my mother lived and died in that house, 
and I find them there, so to say, whenever I enter it. 
Their memory still fills the rooms after so many years. 
The garden and the orchard are the first little bits of land 
my father bought with his earnings as a plowboy. He 
dug and planted them in his leisure hours, and there is 
literally not a foot of soil he did not moisten with his 
sweat. They are sacred to me, but as for the rest, I have 
already given orders.” 

“ And you expect to sell everything before your depart- 
ure ?” 

“Oh, no ! But won’t you be there?” 

“What can I do?” 

“ Take my place, I should think. I will leave you a 
power-of-attorney. You will have to be quick, but per- 
haps you may get 250,000 francs for the property. Invest 
the proceeds so as to be able to use them at any moment. 


THE POWER OF ATTORNEY. 117 

And if ever Henriette is compelled to leave her father’s 
house hand the monej over to her.” 

M. de Brevan had turned very pale. 

“Excuse me,” he said, “excuse me.” 

“What?” 

“ Well, it seems to me it would be more suitable to leave 
some one else in charge of that.”, 

“ Whom?” 

“ Oh ! I don’t know — a more experienced man ! It may 
be that the property will not bring as much as you expect. 
Or I might make a mistake in investing the money. Money 
questions are so delicate.” 

“ I really don’t understand why you should hesitate to 
undertake so simple a thing,” replied Daniel, shrugging 
his shoulders, “ when you have already consented to ren- 
der me so signal and difficult a service.” 

So simple a thing ! That was certainly not M. de Ere- 
van’s opinion. A nervous shiver, which he could hardly 
conceal, ran down his backbone ; perspiration gathered 
on his temples ; and he turned ashy pale. 

“ Two hundred and fifty thousand francs ! That’s a very 
large sum,” said he. 

“No doubt,” rejoined Daniel, carelessly, and glancing at 
the clock he added, “ Half-past three. Come, Maxime, be 
quick. I’ve a cab waiting, and we must see my notary 
before four o’clock.” 

This notary was an exceptional man. He took an inter- 
est in his clients’ affairs, and sometimes even listened to 
their explanations. When Daniel had told him what he 
intended doing he replied : 

“Well, you only have to give M. de Brevan a power-of- 
attorney in proper form. ” 

“ Can it be drawn up at once ?” asked Daniel. 

“Why not? It can be recorded this evening, and to- 
morrow ” 

“Well, then, lose no time.” 

The notary called his chief clerk, briefly gave him his 
instructions, and then drew Daniel into a recess, not un- 
like an enormous cupboard, where, to quote his own ex- 
pression, he was wont to “ confess” his clients. 

“How is it, M. Champcey?” he asked ; do you really owe 
so much money to this M. de Brevan?” 

“I don’t owe him a sou.” 

“And yet you place your entire fortune in his hands. 
You must have marvelous confidence in the man.” 


118 


THE POWER OF ATTORNEY. 


“As much as in myself.” 

“That’s a good deal. And suppose he ran away with 
the proceeds of your property during your absence ?” 

For a moment Daniel was a little shaken, but he never- 
theless replied, “ Oh, there are still some honest folks in 
the world.” 

Ah !” laughed the notary. And from the manner in 
which he shook his head it was evident that experience 
had made him very skeptical, indeed, on that subject. 

“ If you would only listen to me,” he resumed, “ I could 
prove to you ” 

“ I have no wish to change my mind,” interrupted Dan- 
iel ; “ and even if I did wish to do so I cannot retract my 
word. There are particular circumstances in this case 
which I cannot explain to you in so short a time.” 

The notary raised his eyes to the ceiling, and rejoined 
in a tone of deep commiseration, “ At least let me make 
him give you a deed of defeasance.” 

“As you please, sir.” 

This was done, but in such carefully guarded terms that 
Maxime’s susceptibility could not possibly have been 
offended. When the power-of attorney and the deed were 
signed, and the two friends left the worthy notary’s office, 
it was five o’clock, and consequently too late for Daniel 
to write to Henriette to send him the key of the little gar- 
den gate for that same evening. However, he wrote to 
obtain it for the following night. Then after dining with 
M. de Brevan he hurried hither and thither in search of 
the thousand little things which have always to be pur- 
chased on the eve of a long journey. 

He returned home late, and was fortunate enough to 
fall asleep directly he was in bed. The next morning he 
partook of dejeuner in his rooms, so as to guard against 
being absent when the key was brought him. It came 
toward one o’clock, and was handed to him by a tall wo- 
man on the wrong side of twenty, whose eyes were perpet- 
ually turned to the ground, and whose thin lips seemed to 
be always engaged in reciting a Pater or an Ave. This 
was Clarisse, whom Henriette considered to be the safest 
of her maids, and whom she had taken into her confidence. 

“Mademoiselle,” said the messenger,' “ has given me this 
key and this letter for you, sir. She expects an answer.” 

Daniel tore open the envelope, and read as follows : 

“Take care, my dear friend! in resorting to this dangerous expe- 
dient, which we ought to reserve for the last extremity. Is what you 
have to tell me really as important as you say? I can hardly believe it* 


THE POWER OF ATTORNEY.’ 119 

and yet I send you tlie key. Tell Clarisse the precise hour at which 
you will be here.” 

Ah ! the poor girl had no idea of the terrible news that 
was in store for her. 

“Request Mile. Henriette,” said Daniel to the maid, “to 
expect me at seven o’clock,” 

Slipping the key into his pocket he then hurried away. 
He had only a short afternoon to himself, and there were 
still a thousand things to get, and countless preparations 
to make. On calling at the notary’s he found the papers 
ready ; all the formalities had been fulfilled. But as the 
worthy notary produced the deeds he exclaimed, in a 
prophetic tone : 

“ Take care, M. Champcey, reflect I call it tempting a 
man pretty strongly to hand him over such an amount of 
property on the eve of starting on a lung and dangerous 
expedition.” 

“ Ah ! What do I care for my fortune, if I only see Hen- 
riette again?” 

The notary looked discouraged. 

“Ah, if there is a woman in the affair,” he remarked, “I 
have nothing more to say.” 

A moment later and Daniel had quite forgotten his legal 
adviser’s gloomy presentiments. Seated in M. de Ere- 
van’s little sitting-room, he was handing over his deeds 
and papers to his confidant, explaining to him how he 
might make the most of the different parcels of land that 
were to be sold, how certain woods might be disposed of 
together, and how, on the other hand, a large farm, now 
held by one tenant, might be advantageously divided into 
small lots, and offered for auction. M. de Brevan did not 
look so pale now. He had recovered his self-possession, 
and laying aside his usual reserve showed himself all 
eagerness to study his friend’s affairs. He promised to 
do his utmost so that Daniel might be no loser, and with 
this object would go to Anjou himself, so as to call on 
likely purchasers and be present at the sale. In his opin- 
ion it would be wiser to sell piecemeal, without hurry. If 
money were needed, why, a loan could always be obtained 
of the Credit Foncier. Daniel was deeply touched by his 
friend’s expressions of devotion, the more so as he had 
always fancied that Maxime was inclined to be selfish, 
and he was especially gratified when M. de Brevan told 
him that, with the view of helping matters he would en- 
deavor to overcome his aversion for Miss Brandon, and 


120 


THE POWER OF ATTORNEY. 


try and obtain an introduction to the Count de Ville-Han- 
dry’s manion, so as to be a constant visitor there as soon 
as the approaching marriage had taken place. No doubt 
he would have to play a disagreeable part, but, on the 
other hand, he would have frequent opportunities of see- 
ing Mile. Henriette ; he would hear of everything that 
happened, and be at hand whenever she needed advice or 
assistance. 

“My dear Maxime,” exclaimed Daniel “my dear friend, 
how can I ever thank you for all you are doing for me !” 

As on the previous day, they dined together at one of 
the restaurants on tiie boulevard, and after dinner M. de 
Brevan insisted upon escorting his friend as far as the 
Count de Ville-Handry’s house. It was a cold, clear night. 
There was not a cloud in the sky, and the moon shone so 
brightly that one could have read by its light. Seven 
o’clock was just striking at a neighboring convent. 

“Come, courage, my friend !” said M. de Brevan, and 
cordially pressing Daniel’s hand, he walked away. 

Daniel had not answered a word. Terribly excited, he 
had approached the little garden door, at the same time 
anxiously glancing round him. The street was deserted. 
But he trembled so violently that for a moment he thought 
he would never be able to turn the key in the rusty lock. 
At last, however, he succeeded in doing so, and then noise- 
lessly slipped into the garden. He was the first on the 
spot. Hiding himself in the shade of some tall trees, he 
waited. A couple of minutes elapsed, and he was grow- 
ing terribly anxious, when at last he heard some twigs 
crackle under the pressure of rapid footsteps. A shadow 
passed between the trees. He walked forward, and found 
Henriette standing before him. 

“ What is the matter ?” she asked, anxiously. “ Clarisse 
said you looked so pale and care-worn that I have been 
terribly frightened ever since she returned.” 

Daniel had come to the conclusion that the plain truth 
would be less cruel than the most skillful prevarications. 

“I have been ordered on active service,” he replied, 
“and must be on board the day after to-morrow.” 

And, then, without concealing anything, he told her all 
he had suffered since the day before. The blow was so 
terrible that she leaned against a tree for support. It 
seemed as if she did not even hear Daniel, but she must 
have done so, for, suddenly rousing herself, she said : 

“You will not obey that order. You will certainly not 
go when you have heard me. You think I am strong, 


THE POWER OF ATTORNEY. 


121 


brave, and capable of breasting the storm? You are mis- 
taken. I am a child, full of daring as long as it rests on 
its mother’s knee, but helpless as soon as it feels that it is 
left to itself. I am only a woman ; I am weak. Stay, I 
beg you, in the name of our happiness ! If you have ever 
loved me, if you love me now, stay.” 

Daniel had foreseen this heart-rending scene, but he 
had vowed that even if his heart should break he would 
have sufficient firmness to resist Henriette’s prayers and 
tears. 

“ If I were weak enough to give way now,” he said, “ you 
would despise me before the month is over ; and I, desper- 
ate at having to drag out a life of disgrace, would have no 
other resource but suicide.” 

Henriette listened, standing as motionless as a statue. 
She felt in her heart that Daniel’s resolution was not to be 
shaken. 

“I am going, my love,” he resumed, in a gentle voice, 
“ but I leave you a friend of mine — a true and noble 
friend, who will watch over you. You have heard me 
speak of him often — Maxime de Brevan. He knows my 
wishes. Whatever may happen consult him. Ah, I 
should leave more cheerfully if you would promise me to 
trust this faithful friend, to listen to his advice, and follow 
his directions.” 

•‘I promise you, Daniel, I will obey him.” 

She would have said more, but at this moment a rus- 
tling of dry leaves was heard. They turned, and per- 
ceived a man cautiously approaching them. 

“My father I” cried Henriette, and pushing Daniel to- 
ward the gate she begged him to fly. 

To remain would only have been to risk a painful expla- 
nation, insults, and perhaps even a personal collision. 
Daniel understood this only too well. 

“Farewell,” said he, “ farewell ! To-morrow you will 
receive a letter from me.” 

And with these words he made his escape ; but not 
swiftly enough to avoid hearing the count angrily exclaim : 

w Ah, ah ! Is this the virtuous young lady who dares to 
insult Miss Sarah ?” 

As soon as Daniel had locked the door again he listened 
for a moment, hoping that he might hear something im- 
portant. But he could only detect a few indistinct excla- 
mations, and then nothing — nothing more. It was all over 
now. He would have to sail without seeing Henriette 
again, without holding her once in his arms. And yet he 


122 


THE POWER OF ATTORNEY. 


had told her nothing of all he had meant to tell her ; he 
had not spoken to her of half his recommendations, nor 
given her a thousandth part of his tender farewells. How 
had they been surprised ? How was it that the count had 
staid at home instead of hurrying off immediately after 
dinner, as was his custom ? Why had he inquired after 
his daughter, he who generally took no more trouble about 
her than if she had not existed. “ Ah, we have been be- 
trayed !” thought the unhappy man. By whom ? No doubt 
by that unpleasant looking maid whom he had seen in the 
afternoon, by that very Clarisse in whom Henriette placed 
such confidence. If that were so — and it was only too 
probable — how would they be able to correspond in the 
future. Here again Maxime de Brevan seemed his only 
resource. Ah ! how plainly he recognized in all this Miss 
Brandon’s execrable cunning policy. 

“ The wretch !” he cried. u The infamous woman !” 

Wrath, mad wrath, set his brains on fire. To think he 
could do nothing against that woman ! 

“ But she does not stand alone !” he suddenly exclaimed. 
“There is a man who shelters her under his responsibility 
— Sir Tom.” 

The latter might be insulted ; struck in the face, and 
thus compelled to fight. And without thinking for one 
moment of the folly of this plan Daniel hurried off to the 
Rue du Cirque. 

Although it was barely eight o’clock no lights could be 
distinguished in the windows of Miss Brandon’s house, 
and it looked as if everybody were asleep. He rang the 
bell, however, and asked for Sir Thomas Elgin. Sir Tom 
was out, so the doorkeeper said, whereupon Daniel in- 
quired : 

“At what hour will he be back?” 

“He is not coming home to-night.” And whether he had 
received special instructions, or was only acting upon 
general orders, the servant added, “ Mrs. Brian is at the 
theater, but Miss Brandon is at home.” 

Daniel’s wrath changed into a kind of cold fury. 

“They expected me,” he murmured, and the thought 
made him hesitate. 

Should he see^Miss Brandon? What would be the good 
of it? He was just turning away, when a new idea oc- 
curred to him. Why should he not talk with her, try and 
come to an understanding, and perhaps make a bargain 
with her? 


THE POWER OF ATTORNEY. 


123 


“Show me to Miss Brandon’s rooms,” he said to the 
servant. 

As usual, when left alone in the house, she was in the 
little boudoir, where Daniel had already once conversed 
with her. Dressed in a long peignoir of pale blue cash- 
mere, her hair scarcely taken up at all, she was reclining 
on a sofa, reading a new novel. As the door opened she 
carelessly asked, without even turning her head, “Who’s 
that?” But directly the servant announced M. Champcey 
she rose with a bound, apparently almost terrified, drop- 
ping the book she held in her hand. 

“ You !” she murmured, as soon as the servant had left. 

“ Here, and of your own accord ?” 

Firmly resolved this time to remain master of his emo- 
tions, Daniel had paused in the middle of the room, and 
stood there as stiff as a statue. 

“Don’t you know, madam, what brings me here?” he 
asked. All your combinations have succeeded ; you tri- 
umph, and we surrender.” 

“I do not understand you,” she stammered, looking at 
him with seeming amazement. “ I don’t know what you 
mean.” 

He shrugged his shoulders, and continued, in a frigid 
tone : 

“Pray, do me the honor not to think me altogether a 
fool. I have seen the letter, signed with my name, which 
you sent to the minister, my superior. I have held that 
masterpiece of forgery in my hand, and know now how 
you propose to free yourself of my presence.” 

“So it’s true !” cried Miss Brandon, with an angry ges- 
ture. “He has done it ; he has dared to do it.” 

“Who is this ‘he’ ? Sir Thomas Elgin, no doubt?” 

“No, not he ; another man.” 

“Name him.” 

She hesitated, hung her head, and then, apparently 
making a great effort, replied : 

“ I knew they wished to separate us, and without know- 
ing precisely wrhat means they would employ, I suspected 
them. And when I came to you the other day I vranted 
to say to you, ‘Have a care !’ but you drove me from your 
presence, M. Champcey.” He looked upon her with such 
an ironical smile that she broke off, and exclaimed, “Ah, 
he does not believe me ! Tell me that you don’t believe.” 

He bowed ceremoniously, and answered in his gravest 
manner : 

“ I believe, Miss Brandon, that you desire to become the 


124 


THE POWER OF ATTORNEY. 


Countess de Ville-Handry, and you clear everything out 
of your path that can hinder you in your plans. Pray, 
note, that I make no charges. Come, let us play openly. 
You are too sensible and too practical to hate us — Mile. 
Henriette and myself— from gratuitous and purely platonic 
motives. You hate us because we are in your way. How 
are we in your way ? Tell me, and if you will promise to 
help us — we— Henriette and I — pledge ourselves not to 
stand in your way.” 

Miss Brandon looked as if she could not trust her ears. 

“ But, sir, this is a bargain, I should say, which you pro- 
pose ?” 

‘‘Yes, indeed. And so that there may be no misunder- 
standing, I mention the precise terms of it ; if you will 
swear to be kind to Henriette during my absence, to pro- 
tect her against all violence on her father’s part, and never 
to force her to act contrary to her sentiments for me, I 
will give you in return my word that I will abandon to 
you, without dispute or reserve, the whole of the Count 
de Ville-Handry ’s fortune.” 

Miss Brandon heard these words with every sign of emo- 
tion. The tears rolled down her cheeks, and she respond- 
ed, in a low voice : 

“ Have I not yet been humiliated enough ? Must you add . 
shame to shame? Daniel, can you possibly think me so 
mean ?” And checking the sobs which impeded her utter- 
ance, she proceeded, “ And yet I cannot blame you for it, 

I cannot. No, you are right. Everything is against me ; 
everything bears witness against me. Yes, I must appear 
a very wicked woman in your eyes. But if you only knew 
the truth, Daniel — if I could, if I dared, tell you every- 
thing.” With a trembling step she drew nearer to him, 
and then continued in a still lower tone, as if she feared 
to be overheard, “ Cannot you yet understand that I am 
no longer my own ? Do you not realize that I am bound 
and fettered ? I have no longer the right to have a will of 
my own. If they say, ‘Do this !’ I must needs do it. 
What a life I lead ! Great God ! Ah, if you had been 
willing, Daniel ! if you were willing even now !” 

As she spoke she grew more and more excited ; her eyes, 
moist with tears, shone with matchless splendor ; passing 
blushes suffused her face, and her voice had a strange, 
entrancing vibration. Was she forgetting herself? Was 
she really about to betray her secret, or merely inventing 
some new falsehood ? Why not let her go on ? 

At last, however, he was obliged to speak. 


THREATS AND DEFIANCE. 


125 


“That is no answer, Miss Brandon,” he said.^ “Will you 
promise me to protect Henriette ?” 

“ Do you really love her so dearly, your Henriette ?” 

“Better than life.” 

Miss Brandon turned as white as the lace on her dress ; 
her eyes flashed indignation ; and drying her tears she 
curtly ejaculated, “ Oh !” 

“You will give me no answer, miss,” repeated Daniel? 
And as she persisted in her silence he resumed, “Very 
well, then, I understand. You declare open war. Let it 
be so. Only listen to me carefully. I am setting out on a 
dangerous expedition, and you hope I shall never return. 
Undeceive yourself, Miss Brandon, I shall return. With 
a passion like mine, with so much love in one’s heart, and 
so much hatred, a man can defy everything. The mur- 
derous climate will not touch me, and if I had ten bullets 
in my body I should still have the strength to return, and 
hold you to account for your conduct toward Henriette. 
And if you have touched a hair on her head, if you have 
made her shed a single tear, by all that is holy it will 
bring misfortune to you, and to others also.” He turned 
to leave, but on reaching the threshold added, “I ought to 
tell you, moreover, that I leave a faithful friend behind 
me, and if the count or his daughter should happen to die 
very suddenly the authorities will be duly warned. And 
now, madam, farewell — or rather, till we meet again.” 

At eight o’clock on the following evening, after leaving 
with M. de Brevan a long letter for Henriette, and giving 
him his last instructions, Daniel took his seat in the train 
which was to convey him to Rochefort and “ The Conquest. ” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THREATS AND DEFIANCE. 

It was a week after Daniel’s departure, a Wednesday, 
and about half-past eleven o’clock. Some thirty equi- 
pages, certainly the most elegant of all Paris, were ranged 
around the aristocratic church of St. Clotilde. In the 
pretty little square facing the edifice a couple of hundred 
idlers stood gaping and staring, and every passer-by 
paused to inquire what was going on. 

“A wedding, and a very grand one,” was the invariable 
answer. “ In fact, the grandest thing you ever saw. The 
bridegroom is a nobleman of fabulous wealth — the Count 


126 


THREATS AND DEFIANCE. 


de Ville-Handry — and the bride is an American lady. 
They have been inside the church for some time already, 
and will soon come out again. ” 

Suddenly a small pill-box brougham drove up, and 
stopped at the gate of the square. 

“Ah ! ah,” said a young man. “Here comes M. de Bre- 
van. ” 

The speaker was not mistaken. Maxime leisurely 
alighted from his carriage, and approached the church in 
his usual phlegmatic manner. He shook hands with such 
as he knew, and then in an easy tone inquired : 

“ Who has seen the bride ?” 

“II” replied an old beau. 

“Well, what do you think of her?” 

“ She is always sublime in her beauty, my dear fellow. 
When she walked up the aisle to kneel down at the altar a 
murmur of admiration followed her. Upon my word, I 
thought they would applaud. ” 

This was too much enthusiasm, and M. de Brevan cut it 
short by asking : 

“And the Count de Ville-Handry?” 

“Well, really,” replied the old beau, ironically, “the 
dear count can boast of having a valet who is almost as 
expert as Rachel, the famous English enameler. At a lit- 
tle distance you would have sworn he was only sixteen, 
and that he was going to be confirmed instead of mar- 
ried.” 

“Ah! ah! But what was his expression ?” 

“ Oh — well — he seemed restless. ” 

“I can understand that,” observed a stout, elderly gen- 
tleman, who was said not to be very happily married. 

“Well, I fancy I know some one who is not particularly 
pleased with this marriage,” said the old beau. 

“ Whom do you mean ?” 

“ The Count de Ville-Handry’s daughter. I have looked 
for her all over the church, and she is certainly not there.” 

“I am told she has been suddenly taken ill,” rejoined 
. another lounger. 

“So they say,” interposed a young man, “but the fact is, 
that a friend of mine saw her just now, driving out in an 
open cab, in full dress. It appears she intended this pretty 
piece of scandal as a wedding-present for her step-mother.” 

“Upon my word, I should not like to stand in the count’s 
shoes,” observed M. de Brevan, shrugging his shoulders. 

The vestry was crammed to overflowing. The Count de 
Ville-Handry’s more intimate friends were in turn inscrib- 


THREATS AND DEFIANCE. 


127 


ing their names on the marriage register placed on a table 
near the window, while leaning against one of the cup- 
boards appropriated to the vestments and holy vessels 
stood Miss Brandon — now Countess de Ville-Handry — with 
grim Mrs. Brian and tall, stiff Sir Tom close beside her. 
Her admirers had certainly not exaggerated her beauty. 
Her white bridal robe was wonderfully becoming ; she had 
assumed for the occasion an exquisite look of ingenuous 
innocence. Some eight or ten young elegantes stood round 
her, and overwhelmed hen with congratulations and com- 
pliments, which she acknowledged in a slightly tremulous 
voice, and with modestly cast-down eyes. The “happy 
man” was in the meantime airing his felicity in the center 
of the room, blissfully repeating the words “my wife” at 
least a dozen times every minute. Nevertheless, at inter- 
vals a shadow crossed his victorious brow, especially 
when some awkward blunderer remarked : 

“ How unfortunate that Mile. Henriette is indisposed ! 
How pleased she would have been to attend the cere- 
mony.” 

It was not, perhaps, merely the blunderers who spoke 
in this fashion, but the malicious ones as well. Nearly 
every one was aware that there were unpleasant compli- 
cations awaiting the count at home. Indeed, something 
had been suspected since the beginning of the ceremony, 
for just as the count was about to kneel down by the 
bride’s side in front of the high altar, a servant, wearing 
his livery, hurried into the church and whispered a few 
words in his ear. The guests who were nearest to him saw 
him turn very pale and clench his fist with rage. What 
the servant had told him was easily guessed, when a no- 
torious old gossip, the Countess de Bois, who arrived late, 
informed all her friends that she had just met Mile, de 
Ville-Handry driving about in an open cab. Thus, when 
the congratulations had been hurriedly got through i:i the 
vestry no one was surprised to hear the count order his 
coachman to drive home as swiftly as possible He had 
invited some twenty guests to a grand great wedding- 
breakfast, but he seemed to have forgotten them. And 
once in his carriage, alone with Mrs. Brian, Sir Tom, and 
the young countess, he burst into loud imprecations and 
absurd threats. On reaching the house he did not wait 
for the coachman to drive as usual round the sweep, but 
springing out of the vehicle he ( cut right across the open 
space, leaped up the steps, and bounded into the hall. 
Wrath momentarily lent him the muscles of youth. 


128 


THREATS AND DEFIANCE. 


“Ernest, send Ernest here,” he cried, entering a small 
drawing-room, the door of which was open. Ernest was 
the count’s valet, the skillful artist to whom he was in- 
debted for his roseate complexion. “ Where is mademoi- 
selle ?” he asked, directly Ernest appeared. 

“Gone out, sir.” 

“When?” 

“Immediately after you, sir.” 

The young countess, Mrs. Brian, and Sir Tom had now 
entered the room. 

“Do you hear that?” asked the count, turning toward 
them, and addressing his valet again, he inquired, “ How 
did it happen?” 

“Very naturally. The gates had not been closed behind 
your carriage, sir, when the young lady rang her bell. A 
servant went to see what she wanted, and she ordered the 
landau to be brought round. She was told very respect- 
fully that all three coachmen were out, and that there was 
no one to drive her. ‘If that’s the case,’ she answered, ‘I 
want you to run and get me an open cab. ’ And when the 
servant hesitated she added, ‘If you don’t go instantly I 
shall go myself. ’ ” 

The count trembled with rage. 

“ And then?” he asked, seeing that his valet paused. 

“ Then the servant was frightened, and did what she 
wanted. ” 

“ He is dismissed, the fool !” exclaimed M. de Ville-Han- 
dry, 

“But allow me to say, sir,” commenced Ernest. 

“ No. Let his wages be paid. And you go on.” 

Without showing any embarrassment the valet shrugged 
his shoulders, and blandly continued : 

“ When the cab entered the court-yard we saw the young 
lady come down in a splendid toilet, such as we had never 
seen her wear before — not pretty exactly, but so conspicu- 
ous, that it must have attracted everybody’s attention. 
She settled herself coolly on the cushions, while we looked 
at her in amazement, and then turning to me she said, 

‘ Ernest, tell my father that I shall not be back to lunch. 
I have a good many calls to make, and as the weather is 
fine I shall afterward go to the Bois de Boulogne.’ There- 
upon the gates were opened, and off she went. It was then 
that I took the liberty to send you word, sir.” 

In all his life the Count de Ville-Handry had never been 
so furious. The veins in his neck began to swell, and his 


THREATS AND DEFIANCE. 129 

eyes became blood-shot, as if he were about to have an apo- 
plectic fit. 

“You ought to have kept her from going out,” he said, 
hoarsely. “Why didn’t you do so? You ought to have 
made her go back to her own room, used force if necessary 
— locked her up — bound her — anything.” 

“You had given no orders, sir.” 

“ You ought not to have required orders to do your duty. 
To let a mad woman run about ! an impudent girl, whom 
I caught the other day in the garden with a man. ” 

He spoke so loud that his voice was heard in the adjoin- 
ing reception-room, where his guests were beginning to 
assemble. The unhappy man ! He disgraced his own 
child. 

“ I beseech you, my dear friend, be calm !” exclaimed 
the young countess, approaching him. 

“ No, this must end, and I mean to punish the wicked 
girl.” 

“I beseech you, my dear count, don’t destroy the hap- 
piness of the first day of our married life. Henriette is 
only a child ; she did not know what she was doing.” 

Mrs. Brian was not of the same opinion. 

“ The count is right,” said she. “ The young lady’s con- 
duct is perfectly shocking.” 

“ Ah, ah ! Brian, how about our bargain ?” interrupted 
Sir Tom. “Was it not understood that we should not med- 
dle with the count’s private affairs?” 

Thus every one at once took up a preassigned part. The 
countess advocated forbearance ; Mrs. Brian advised dis- 
cipline ; and Sir Tom assumed an attitude of impartiality. 
After this the count was soon calmed, but with such a 
scene as its preface, the wedding-breakfast could not be 
very merry. The guests, who had overheard nearly every- 
thing, exchanged strange looks with each other. 

“The count’s daughter,” they thought, “and a lover? 
That can hardly be !” 

In vain did M. de Ville-Handry try to look indifferent ; 
in vain did the young countess display all her rare gifts. 
Everybody was embarrassed ; nobody could summon up a 
smile, and every five minutes the conversation broke down. 
At half-past four o’clock the last guest escaped, and the 
count remained alone with his new family. It was grow- 
ing dark, and lamps were just brought in, when wheels 
were heard rolling in the court-yard. The count rose to 
his feet, and turned pale. 

“ Here she comes !” he said. “Here is my daughter !” 


130 


THREATS AND DEFIANCE. 


It was, indeed, Henriette. It may be asked how a young 
girl, usually so reserved, and naturally so timid, could 
have made up her mind to cause such a scandal ? But the 
most timid people are precisely the boldest on certain oc- 
casions. Forced to abandon their natural course, they 
neither reason nor calculate, but, losing all self-possession, 
rush blindly into danger, impelled, as it were, by a kind 
of madness. Now, for nearly a fortnight Henriette had 
experienced the most bitter emotions. After her inter- 
view with Daniel in the garden her father had over- 
whelmed her with insults and reproaches — speaking even 
in presence of the servants, as if anxious to have it re- 
ported on all sides that his daughter had disgraced herself. 
When Henriette had declined to be present either at the 
reading of the marriage contract between himself and 
Miss Brandon or at their wedding, he again flew into a 
violent passion, and each day, as the decisive moment 
drew nearer, a fresh lamentable scene occurred. Perhaps 
Henriette might have modified her opposition if her father 
had only used a little discretion, tried the powers of per- 
suasion, or sought to touch her heart by speaking to her 
of herself, of her future happiness and peace. But no ! he 
invariably spoke to her in a threatening manner, and the 
consequence was that Henriette determined to make her 
protest as public as she could by showing herself to all 
Paris while her father and Miss Brandon were being mar- 
ried at St. Clotilde. She had no one to whom she could 
confide her grief, no one to tell her that all the disgrace of 
such a scandal would fall back upon herself. Donning a 
very showy costume, so as to attract as much attention as 
possible, she spent the day in driving about to all the places 
where she thought she would meet most of her acquaint- 
ances. Night alone compelled her to return, and although 
physically exhausted she was morally upheld by the ab- 
surd idea that she had done her duty, and shown herself 
worthy of Daniel. She had just alighted, and was about 
to pay her driver, when the count’s valet came up, and 
said, as disrespectfully as he dared : 

“My master has ordered me to tell you to come to him 
as soon as you returned.” 

“ Where is my father ?” 

“In the large reception-room.” 

“ Alone ?” 

“ No. The countess, Mrs. Brian, and Sir Thomas Elgin 
are with him.” 

“Very well. I am coming,” and mustering all her cour- 


THKEATS AND DEFIANCE. 


131 


age, and looking whiter and colder than the marble statues 
in the vestibule, she opened the door of the reception-room, 
and entered, stiffly erect. 

“Ah, here you are?” exclaimed the count, restored to a 
certain degree of calmness by the very excess of his wrath 
— “ here you are l’* 

“Yes, father.” 

“ Where have you been ?” 

She had at a glance taken in the whole scene, and on 
perceiving the new countess, and those whom she called 
her accomplices, resentment conquered every other feel- 
ing. With a haughty smile she answered : 

“ I have been to the Bois de Boulogne. f In the morning 
I went out to make some purchases ; later, knowing that 
the Duchess de Champdoce is unwell, and does not go out, 
I went to lunch with her, after that, as the weather was so 
fine ” 

But the Count de Ville-Handry could endure it no longer. 
Seizing his daughter by the wrists, he lifted her bodily, 
and dragging her toward the Countess Sarah, he cried : 

“ On your knees, unhappy child ! on your knees, and ask 
the best of women to pardon you for all these insults. ” 

“You hurt me terribly, father,” was Henriette’s only 
reply. 

But the countess had already thrown herself between 
them. 

“For heaven’s sake, mademoiselle,” she said, “spare 
your father.” 

And as Henriette measured her from head to foot with 
an insulting glance she continued : 

“ Dear count, don’t you see that your violence is killing 
me?” 

On hearing this M. de Ville-Handry promptly let his 
daughter go, and drawing back exclaimed : 

“Thank her, thank this angel of goodness who intercedes 
on your behalf. But have a care ! my patience is at an 
end. There are such things as houses of correction for re- 
bellious children and perverse daughters.” 

“Let it be so, father,” answered Henriette, with start- 
ling energy. “ Choose the very strictest of these houses, 
and send me there. Whatever I may have to suffer there 
it will be better than remaining here to see my mother’s 
place occupied by that — woman.” 

“Wretch !” gasped the count, who was nearly suffocat- 
ing. Making a violent effort he tore off his cravat, and 
conscious that he was no longer master of himself, 1 < • 


132 


A FATHER’S CONTINUED CRUELTY. 


cried to his daughter, “ Leave me, leave me ! or I answer 
for nothing. ” 

She hesitated for one moment, and then giving the coun- 
tess one more look of defiance she slowly retired from the 
room. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A FATHER’S CONTINUED CRUELTY. 

Rising at daybreak the following morning Henriette was 
deliberating on what weak point she might make her next 
attack, when there came a knock at the door, and Clar- 
isse, her own maid, entered. 

“Here is a letter for you, mademoiselle,” she said. “I 
have received it this moment in an envelope addressed to 
me. ” 

Henriette examined the missive for some minutes, study- 
ing the handwriting, which she did not know. Who could 
write to her in this fashion, except Maxime de Brevan, the 
friend whom Daniel had told her to rely on, and who had 
so far given her no sign of life ? Her surmise was correct. 
It was M. de Brevan who wrote as follows : 

“Madam: — Like all Paris, I have heard of your proud and noble pro- 
test on the day of your father’s unfortunate marriage. Egotists and 
fools will perhaps blame you. But you may despise them ; for all the 
best men are on your side. And my dear Daniel, if he were here, would 
approve and admire your courage, as I do myself.” 

She drew a full breath, as if her heart were relieved of 
a heavy burden. Daniel’s friend approved her conduct. 
This sufficed to stifle the voice of reason, and dispel every 
idea of prudence. Moreover, M. de Brevan advised obsti- 
nate, dogged resistance in well-nigh every line of his let- 
ter. Toward the close, however, he turned to another 
subject. 

“At the moment of taking the train, Daniel handed me a letter, in 
which he expresses his innermost thoughts. With a sagacity worthy of 
such a heart, he foresees and solves in advance all the difficulties with 
which your step-mother will no doubt seek to embarrass you. This let- 
ter is too precious to be intrusted to the post. I shall therefore procure 
an introduction to your father’s house before the end of the week, and 
will then liave the honor of placing that letter in your own hands. I 
may add, that to-morrow I shall have an opportunity of sending Daniel 
news from here. If you wish to write to him, send me your letter to- 
day, to No. 62 Rue Lafitte, and I will inclose it in mine. Above every- 
thing, mistrust Sir Thomas Elgin.” 


A FATHER’S CONTINUED CRUELTY. 


133 


This last recommendation filled Henrietta’s mind with 
vague and terrible apprehensions. 

“ Why should I mistrust him more than the others ?” she 
asked herself. 

But a more pleasing thought dispelled her anxiety. 
Here was an opportunity to send Daniel news promptly 
and safely, and she must make haste to write to him. 
Seating herself at her little writing-table she went to work 
to acquaint her only friend on earth with all her bitter 
sufferings and uncertain hopes. Eleven o’clock struck 
just as she had finished filling eight long pages with all 
she felt uppermost in her heart. She was about to rise, 
when suddenly she felt a sensation of faintness and giddi- 
ness steal over her. What could it mean? Ah, now she 
remembered that she had eaten nothing since noon the 
day before. 

“ I mustn’t starve myself,” she exclaimed, almost mer- 
rily, as she promptly recovered herself. She rang the bell, 
and bade her maid bring her some breakfast. 

Mile, de Ville-Handry occupied three rooms. The first, 
her sitting-room, opened upon the landing ; on the right 
was her bed-chamber, and on the left a boudoir, containing 
her piano and book-case. When Henriette. took her meals 
up stairs, as had often happened of late, she had them 
served in the sitting-room. Entering that apartment, she 
proceeded to clear the table of the albums and little trifles 
which were lying about, so as to expedite matters, when 
the maid reappeared with empty hands. 

“ Ah, mademoiselle, the count has given orders not to 
take anything up stairs. ” 

“ That cannot be.” 

But a mocking voice outside responded, “ It is so !” and 
a moment later M. de Ville-Handry made his appearance, 
already dressed, curled and painted, and having the ex- 
pression of a man who is about to enjoy his revenge. Bid- 
ding the maid leave the room, he turned toward his 
daughter, and resumed, “ Yes, indeed, my dear Henriette, 
I have given strict orders that your meals are not to be 
served to you up here. Why should you indulge in such 
fancies ? Are you unwell ? If you are we will send for 
the doctor. If not you will do me the favor to come down 
and take your meals in the dining-room with the family — 
that is, with the countess and myself, Sir Thomas Elgin, 
and Mrs. Brian.” 

“But, father !” 

“There is no father who could stand this. The time of 


134 


A FATHER'S CONTINUED CRUELTY. 


weakness has gone by, like the time of passion, so you 
must come down. You will do so whenever you please ; 
for a day or two you’ll pout, perhaps, but hunger drives 
the wolf into the village ; and on the third day we shall 
see you come down as soon as the bell rings. I have ap- 
pealed to your heart in vain ; you see I am forced to ap- 
peal to your stomach.” 

He left the room, quite proud at having performed what 
he called an act of paternal authority, without vouchsaf- 
ing a glance at his daughter, who had sunk back on to a 
chair — for she was overcome, poor child ! It was all over ; 
she could struggle no longer. Hence, why not as well 
give way at once ? She saw clearly that the longer sne 
postponed surrender the sweeter victory would be to the 
countess, and the more painful the sacrifice to herself. 
Mustering, therefore, all her energy, she went down into 
the dining-room, where the others were already at table. 

She had imagined that her appearance would be greeted 
by some insulting remark. Not at all. The others hardly 
seemed to notice her. The countess paused in her previ- 
ous talk to say “Good-morning, mademoiselle,” and then 
went on without betraying the slightest emotion. 

Directly breakfast was over Henriette rose, and hav- 
ing bowed without saying a word, was returning to her 
room, when she met some of the servants on the stairs 
carrying a heavy wardrobe. Upon inquiry she learned 
that as Sir Tom and Mrs. Brian were henceforth to live in 
the house they were bringing in their furniture. Shaking 
her head sadly she hurried into her rooms, where a still 
greater surprise was awaiting her. Three servants were 
hard at work taking down her furniture, under the super- 
intendence of Ernest, the count’s valet. 

“ What are you doing here ?” she asked. “ Who has 
allowed you ?” 

“We are only obeying' the count’s orders,” replied Ern- 
est. “We are getting your rooms ready for Madame 
Brian.” 

This impudence seemed so monstrous that, unable to 
believe her eyes and ears, she yielded to a sudden impulse, 
returned to the dining-room, and asked her father : 

“Is it really true that you have ordered my furniture to 
be removed ?” 

“ Yes, my daughter. My architect will transform your 
three rooms into a large reception-room for Mrs. Brian, 

who had not space enough for ” 

“I cannot understand,” exclaimed the young countess, 


A FATHER’S CONTINUED CRUELTY. 


135 


with a gesture of displeasure, “ how Aunt Brian can accept 
that.” 

“I beg your pardon,” exclaimed Mrs. Brian, “the count 
is doing this entirely without my consent.” 

“Sarah, my darling,” rejoined the count, “permit me to 
be sole judge in all arrangements that concern my 
daughter.” 

Count M. de Ville-Handry’s tone was so firm as he said 
this that one would have sworn the idea of dislodging 
Henriette had sprung from his own brains. 

“I never act thoughtlessly,” he continued, “and always 
take time to mature my decisions. In this case I act from 
motives of the most ordinary propriety. Mrs. Brian is no 
longer young ; my daughter is a mere child. If one of the 
two has to submit to some slight inconvenience it is cer- 
tainly my daughter. I have decided that my daughter 
shall in future occupy the rooms formerly used by her 
mother’s companion. They are small, but more than suf- 
ficient for her. Besides, they have this advantage, that 
they can be easily overlooked from one of our own rooms, 
my dear Sarah, and that is an important point in dealing 
with an imprudent girl, who has so sadly abused the lib- 
erty she enjoyed, thanks to my blind confidence.” 

What could Henriette answer ? If she had been alone 
with her father she would certainly have defended her- 
self, tried to induce him to reconsider his decision, and 
possibly have begged him to do so on her knees. But here, 
in the presence of these two women, with the Countess 
Sarah’s mocking eyes upon her, it was impossible. Ah, 
she would have died a thousand times over rather than 
give these miserable adventurers the joy and satisfaction 
of such self-humiliation. “Let them crush me,” she 
thought, “ they shall never hear me complain, or cry for 
mercy.” So when her father, who had been quietly watch- 
ing her, asked, “Well?” she simply replied, “You shall be 
obeyed this very night,” and calmly left the room, holding 
her head erect, and without having shed a tear. 

God knew, however, what she suffered. It certainly 
caused her no little sorrow to have to give up those little 
rooms where she had spent so many hours, and which re- 
called such sweet memories, but that was nothing in com- 
parison with the prospect of having to live under the 
Countess Sarah’s very eyes. They would not even leave 
her at liberty to weep. On the other side of the partition 
the countess would hear and delight in every sigh that 
escaped her. 


136 


A FATHER’S CONTINUED CRUELTY. 


She was suddenly roused from her distress by the recol- 
lection of the letter she had written to Daniel. If M. de 
Brevan was to have it that same day there was not a mo- 
ment to lose. Already it was too late for post, and she 
would have to send it by messenger. Accordingly she 
rang the bell for Carisse, her confidante, for the purpose 
of sending it to the Rue Lafitte. But instead of Clarisse 
one of the housemaids appeared, saying : 

'•‘Your own maid is not in the house, mademoiselle. 
Mrs. Brian has sent her to the Rue du Cirque. If I can do 
anything for you ” 

“No, I thank you !” replied Henriette. 

It seemed, then, that she counted for nothing any more 
in the house. She was not allowed to take her meals by 
herself ; she was turned out of her own rooms, and the 
maid, long attached to her service, was taken from her. 
And she was forced to submit to these humiliations with- 
out a chance of repelling them. Time was passing, how- 
ever, and it was growing each minute more difficult to let 
M. de Brevan have her letter in time for the night mail. 

“Well,” said Henriette to herself, “ I will take it my- 
self.” 

And although in all her life she had perhaps not been 
more than twice alone in the street, she put on her bonnet, 
wrapped herself up in a cloak, and swiftly went down- 
stairs. The doorkeeper, a tall, imposing flunky, who 
was very proud of his richly laced livery, was sitting in 
front of the little pavilion where he lived, smoking, and 
reading his paper. 

“ Open the gate !” said Henriette. 

But without taking his pipe from his mouth, or even ris- 
ing from his seat, the fellow answered : 

“ The count has sent me orders never to let you go out 
without a verbal or written permission from him, so 
that ” 

“You impudent fellow !” exclaimed Henriette, and she 
resolutely walked toward the ponderous gate, and stretched 
out her hand to pull the bolt. But the man, divining her 
intention, and quicker than herself, rushed up to the gate, 
bawling as loud as he could : 

“ Mademoiselle, mademoiselle, I have my orders, and I 
shall lose my place. ” 

On hearing his cries a dozen servants idling about the 
stables, the vestibule, and the inner court, hastened to the 
spot. A moment later Sir Tom appeared, ready to go out 
on horseback, and finally the count himself. 


A FATHER’S CONTINUED CRUELTY. 137 

“What do you want? What are you doing there?” he 
asked. 

“You see, I wish to go out.” 

“ Alone ?" laughed the count, and pointing to the door- 
keeper he harshly resumed, “ This man would be instantly 
dismissed if he allowed you to leave the house alone. Oh, 
you need not look at me in that way. Henceforth you 
will only go out when and with whom it pleases me. And 
don’t hope to escape my watchful observation. I have 
foreseen everything. The little gate you had a key of has 
been nailed up. And if ever a man should dare to steal 
into the garden the gardeners have orders to shoot him 
down like a dog, whether it be the man with whom I 
caught you the other night, or some one else.” 

Henriette staggered under this mean and cowardly in- 
sult, but immediately collecting herself she exclaimed : 

“ Great God ! Am I delirious ? Father, are you aware 
of what you are saying?” And as the suppressed laughter 
of the servants reached her she added with almost convul- 
sive vehemence, “At least, say who the man w'as with 
whom you saw me in the garden, so that every one may 
hear his name. Tell them that it ( was Daneil Champcey — 
he whom my mother chose for me among all — he whom 
you received daily at your house during long years, and to 
whom you solemnly promised my hand, who was my be- 
trothed, and who would now De my husband if we had 
chosen to approve of your unfortunate marriage. Tell 
them that it was M. Daniel Champcey, whom you had 
sent off the day before, and whom a crime, a forgery com- 
mitted by your Sarah, forced to go to sea — for he had to be 
got out of the way at any cost. As long as he was in Paris 
you would never have dared to treat me as you do now.” 

Overcome by this unexpected violence, the count could 
only stammer out a few incoherent words. Henriette was 
about to continue, when she felt herself taken by the arm, 
and gently but irresistibly led toward the house. It was 
Sir Tom, trying to save her from her own excitement. She 
looked at him, and noticed that a big tear was slowly roll- 
ing down the usually impassive baronet’s cheek. 

He led her as far as the staircase, and then, when she 
had laid hold of the balusters, he murmured, “ Poor girl !” 
and hurried rapidly away. 

Ay, poor girl, indeed ! Her reason was giving way un- 
der all these terrible blows, and seized with a kind of ver- 
tigo, she hastened up stairs, fancying she could still hear 


138 A FATHER’S CONTINUED CRUELTY. 

her father’s abominable charges and the servants’ laugh- 
ter. 

“Oh, God,” she sobbed, “have pity on me.” 

She felt in her heart that she had no hope left now but 
God, delivered up as she was to pitiless enemies, sacrificed 
to the implacable hatred of her step-mother, abandoned by 
every one, and betrayed and openly renounced by her own 
father. Occupied with her gloomy thoughts, the poor girl 
paid no attention to the flight of time, but she was roused 
at last by the ringing of the dinner-bell. She was free 
not to go down, but she revolted at the idea that the Coun- 
tess Sarah might think her overcome. 

“That must not be,” she murmured; “ she shall never 
know how much I suffer !” 

And ringing for Clarisse, who had in the meantime re- 
turned, she bade her dress her quickly. While changing 
her attire a paper rustled in the pocket of the dress she 
took off, and she then remembered her letter to Daniel. 
Although it was now very late she thought it best to try 
and let M. de Erevan have it, and accordingly she asked 
Clarisse to take a cab and repair to the Rue Lafitte. 

“Try and find some excuse,” she said, “if you are asked 
why you are going out, tmd above all, be discreet. ” 

Then, arrayed in one of her most becoming dresses, and 
with her beautiful hair daintily arranged, she went down 
stairs, so determined to conceal her emotion that she act- 
ually had a smile on her lips as she entered the dining- 
room. Fever imparted unwonted animation to her fea- 
tures and a strange brilliancy to her eyes. Her beauty, of 
recent times somewhat impaired, again became so conspic- 
uous, that it almost eclipsed that of the countess. Even 
the count was struck by it, and exclaimed, glancing at his 
young wife, “ Oh, oh !” This was, however, the only no- 
tice taken of Henriette. No one seemed aware of her pres- 
ence, except Sir Tom, whose eyes softened whenever he 
looked at her. But what was that to her ? Affecting a 
composure she was far from feeling, she was making an 
effort to eat, when a servant entered the room, and re- 
spectfully whispered a few words in the countess’ ear. 

“Very well,” she said ; “I’ll be there directly.” 

And, without vouchsafing any explanation, she left the 
table, remaining perhaps ten minutes away. 

“ What was it ?” asked Count de Ville-Handry, with an 
accent of tender interest when his young wife returned. 

“Nothing, my dear,” she replied, as she took her seat 
again ; “nothing, only some orders to give.” 


A FATHER’S CONTINUED CRUELTY. 


139 


Still Henriette thought she noticed an expression of 
cruel satisfaction under her step-mother’s apparent indif- 
ference. More than that, she fancied she detected the 
countess and Mrs. Brian exchange rapid glances, one im- 
plying, “Well,” and the other answering, “All right.” 

“These wretches,” thought the poor girl, “have prepared 
some fresh insult for me.” 

And her suspicions became so intense that when dinner 
was over, instead of returning to her own rooms, she fol- 
lowed her father and his new “friends” into th'e drawing- 
room. They did not long remain alone. The count and 
his young wife had probably announced that they would 
be “ at home” that evening, for soon a number of visitors 
arrived, some of them old friends of the Ville-Handry 
family, but the great majority intimates from the Rue du 
Cirque. Henriette was too busily engaged in watching 
her step-mother to notice how eagerly she herself was ex- 
amined, what glances the visitors cast at her, and how 
careful the married ladies, as well as the young girls, 
were to leave her by herself. It required a brutal scene 
to open her mind to the truth, and to bring her thoughts 
back to the horrible reality of her situation. By degrees, 
as the number of visitors increased, the conversation 
ceased to be general, and little groups were formed. In 
this way two ladies came and sat down near Henriette. 
She did not know them, but judged them to be friends of 
the Countess Sarah, noting especially that one of them 
had a strong foreign accent. They were talking together, 
and Henriette instinctively listened to them. 

“Why didn’t you bring your daughter ?” asked one of 
them. 

“ How could I ?” replied the other. “I would not bring 
her here for the world. Don’t you know what kind of a 
girl the count’s daughter is ? It is incredible, and almost 
too scandalous. On the day of her father’s marriage, and 
with the connivance of a servant, who has since been dis- 
missed, she ran away with some one, and the police had to 
be employed to find out where she was, and bring her back 
home. If it had not been for our dear Sarah she would 
have been sent to a house of correction.” 

A stifled cry interrupted them, and on looking round 
they perceived that Henriette had suddenly fainted, and 
fallen to the ground. Instantly, and with one impulse, 
everybody was up. But the honorable Sir Thomas Elgin 
was swifter than all the others, and rushed to the spot 
with such surprising promptness at the very moment 


140 


A FATHER’S CONTINUED CRUELTY. 


when the accident happened, that it almost seemed as if 
he had had a presentiment, and was watching for the pre- 
cise moment when his assistance would be needed. Rais- 
ing Henriette with a powerful arm, he laid her on a sofa, 
not forgetting to slip a cushion under her head. At once 
the countess and the other ladies crowded around the 
fainting girl, rubbing the palms of her hands, moistening 
her temples with aromatic vinegar and cologne, and per- 
sistently holding bottles of salts to her nostrils. Still, all 
efforts to revive her proved fruitless, and this was so ex- 
traordinary that even the Count de Ville-Handry began to 
be moved, although at first he had been heard to exclaim, 
“Pshaw! Leave her alone. It’s nothing.” Senile love 
had not yet entirely extinguished all fatherly instincts, 
and anxiety rekindled the affection he had formerly felt 
for his child. Accordingly, rushing into the hall, he 
called to the footmen there on duty, “ Quick ! Let some 
one run for a doctor ; never mind which — the nearest !” 

This acted as a signal for the guests to scatter. Finding 
that this fainting-fit lasted too long, and fearing perhaps 
a fatal termination, a painful scene, and tears, they one 
by one slyly slipped out of the house. In this way the 
countess, Mrs. Brian, Sir Tom, and the unhappy father, 
found themselves soon once more alone with Henriette, 
who was still unconscious. “We ought not to leave her 
here,” said Sarah ; “she will be better in bed.” 

“Yes, that’s true ; you are right,” replied the count. “I 
shall have her carried to her room.” 

He was stretching out his hand to pull the bell, when 
Sir Tom interposed, and exclaimed, in a voice of deep emo- 
tion : 

“Never mind, count, I’ll carry her myself.” 

And without waiting for an answer he took her up like 
a feather and carried her to her room, followed by the 
count and countess. He could not, of course, remain in 
Henriette’s room ; but it looked as if he could not tear 
himself away. For some time the servants, quite amazed 
thereat, saw him walk up and down the passage with 
feverish steps, and in spite of his usual impassiveness, 
evince every sign of extraordinary excitement. Every ten 
minutes he paused in his walk to ask at the door, in an 
anxious voice, “ Well?” 

“She is still in the same condition,” was the answer. 

In the meantime two physicians had arrived, but with- 
out obtaining any better result than the countess and her 
friends, 


A FATHER’S CONTINUED CRUELTY. 


141 


They exhausted all the usual remedies for such cases, 
and evidently began to be surprised at the persistency of 
the symptoms. Nor could the Count de Ville Handry 
suppress his growing anxiety as he saw them consulting 
in the recess of one of the windows, discussing more ener- 
getic means to be employed. At last, toward midnight, 
Sir Tom perceived the young countess come out'of Henri- 
ette’s room. 

“ How is she ?” he eagerly asked. 

“She’s coming to,” replied the countess, in a loud voice, 
so as to be heard by the servants, “ and that is why I am 
leaving her. She dislikes me so terribly, poor unhappy 
child, that I fear my presence might do her harm.” 

Henriette had, indeed, recovered consciousness. First 
a shiver ran through her whole frame, and then she tried 
painfully and repeatedly to raise herself on her pillows, 
and look around. She evidently did not remember what 
had happened, and mechanically passed her hand to and 
fro across her forehead, as if to brush away the dark vail 
hanging over her mind, at the same time, looking with 
haggard eyes at the doctors, her father, and her confidante, 
Clarisse, who knelt by her bedside, weeping. At last when 
all of a sudden the horrid reality broke upon her mind, 
she threw herself back, and cried out, “Oh, God !”. 

But she was saved, and the doctors soon withdrew, de- 
claring that there was nothing to apprehend now, provided 
their prescriptions were carefully observed. The count 
then approached his daughter, and taking her hands 
asked with an air of unusual affection : 

“Come, child. What has happened? What was the 
matter ?” 

She looked at him in utter despair, and then in a low 
voice replied : 

“Nothing ! only you have ruined me, father.” 

“How, how ?” asked the count. “ What do you mean ?” 
And embarrassed, perhaps angry with himself, and trying 
to find an excuse for what he had done, he added, simper- 
ing, “ Is it not your own fault ? Why do you treat Sarah 
so badly, and do all you can to exasperate me ?” 

“Yes, you are right. It is my fault,” murmured Henri- 
ette. 

She spoke in a tone of bitter irony now, but afterward, 
when she was alone and quiet, she had to acknowledge 
and confess to herself that it was as she had said. The 
scandal by which she had intended to overwhelm her step- 
mother had fallen back upon herself and crushed her. 


142 


A FATHER’S CONTINUED CRUELTY. 


Still the next morning she was a little better, and in 
spite of all that Clarisse could say, she would get up, and 
go down stairs, for all her hopes henceforth depended on 
that letter written by Daniel. She had been waiting day 
after day for M. de Brevan, who was to bring it to her, 
and would not have missed him for anything in the world. 
However, she waited for him in vain that day, and, in- 
deed, during the remainder of the week. Attributing his 
delay to some new misfortune, she was thinking of writ- 
ing to him, when at last, on Tuesday evening — when the 
countess held her second reception — a servant suddenly 
announced, “M. Palmer — M. de Brevan.” Such was Hen- 
riette’s emotion that she abruptly turned toward the door, 
eager to see the man Daniel had called his second self. 
The first of the two visitors was an elderly individual, 
with gray hair, and looking as grave and solemn as a 
member of parliament ; the other, who might be thirty or 
thirty-five years old, had a cold and haughty appearance, 
his thin lips curving into a sardonic smile. 

“ That is the man !” said Henriette to herself ; “ that’s 
Daniel’s friend !” 

Upon examining him, she thought his composure affect- 
ed, and his whole appearance lacking in frankness. Still, 
she never thought for a moment of distrusting M. de Bre- 
van. Daniel had blindly recommended him to her, and 
that was enough. She had been too severely punished 
when trying to follow her own inspirations ever to think 
of repeating the experiment. She kept M. de Brevan in 
view, and noticed that after being presented to the Coun- 
tess Sarah and her husband he threw himself into the 
throng of visitors. At that moment the reception was at 
its height. After a while, steering through the various 
groups, he managed to approach her, gaining a vacant 
chair by her side. The air of perfect indifference with 
which he sat down showed that he had fully measured 
the danger of risking a confidential talk with a young 
lady under the eyes of fifty or sixty persons. He com- 
menced with some of those set phrases current in society, 
speaking loud enough to be heard by the people near them, 
and to satisfy their curiosity if they had a fancy for listen- 
ing. Noticing that Henriette had turned very red, and 
fixed her eyes most anxiously upon him, he ventured to 
say in an undertone, “ I beg you, mademoiselle, affect a 
little more indifference. Smile; we may be watched. 
Remember that we must not soem to know each other.” 
And then in a loud voice he began to sing the praises of 


A FATHER’S CONTINUED CRUELTY. 


143 


the last new play that had been performed, until finally, 
thinking that he had quieted all possible suspicions, he 
drew a little nearer, and casting down his eyes, remarked, 
•'‘It is useless to tell you, mademoiselle, that I am Maxime 
de Brevan.” 

“I heard your name announced, monsieur,” replied Hen- 
riette. 

“I took the liberty of writing to you, mademoiselle, un- 
der cover to your maid, according to Daniel’s orders, but 
I hope you will excuse me.” 

“ I have nothing to excuse, monsieur, but to thank you 
very much, from the bottom of my heart, for your gener- 
ous devotion.” 

No man is perfect, and when M. de Brevan heard these 
words a passing blush suffused his cheeks ; he coughed 
two or three times, and passed his hand between his collar 
and his neck, as if troubled in his throat. 

“You must have thought,” she continued, “that I was 
not in any great haste to avail myself of your kind offer, 
but — there were difficulties — in my way ” 

“Oh, yes; I know,” broke in M. de Brevan, sadly shak- 
ing his head ; “ your maid has told me. For she found me 
at home, as, no doubt, you have heard, and your letter 
arrived just in time to be sent on with mine. They will 
gain a fortnight in this way, for the mail for Cochin China 
does not leave more than once a month — on the 29th. I 
bring you Daniel’s letter, mademoiselle. I have folded it 
up very small, and I have it here in my hand ; if you will 
let your handkerchief fall I’ll slip it into it as I pick it 
up.” 

The trick was not new, and it was by no means difficult 
of accomplishment. Still, so far as Henriette was con- 
cerned, it was performed awkwardly enough. She failed 
to let her handkerchief fall in a natural manner, and 
when she took it back again she made a far too eager ges- 
ture. Moreover, as she felt the crisp paper under the cam- 
bric folds, she blushed perceptibly. Fortunately, M. de 
Brevan had the presence of mind to rise, and move his 
chair so as to help her in concealing her embarrassment. 
Then, when he saw her calm again he sat down once more, 
and resumed in a tone of deep interest : 

“Now, allow me to inquire after your position here.” 

“ It is terrible.” 

“ Do they harrass you ?” 

“Oh, fearfully.” 

“No doubt, your step-mother?” 


144 - A FATHER’S CONTINUED CRUELTY. 

“ Alas ! who else would do it ? But she dissembles, vail- 
ing her malignity under affected gentleness. In appear- 
ance she is all kindness to me. And my poor father be- 
comes a willing instrument in her hands — my poor father, 
formerly so kind, and so fond of me.” 

She was deeply moved, and M. de Brevan^perceived that 
tears were starting from her eyes. 

“ Mademoiselle,” said he, in a frightened tone, “ for heav- 
en’s sake control yourself.” And, anxious to turn Henri- 
ette’s thoughts from her father, he asked, “ How does Mrs. 
Brian behave Toward you ?” 

“She always sides against me.” 

‘‘Naturally. And Sir Tom?” 

“You wrote to me that I ought to mistrust him particu- 
larly, and so I do ; but, I must confess, he alone seems to 
be touched by my misfortunes. ” 

“ Ah ! that is the very reason why you ought to fear 
him.” 

“Why so?” 

For a moment M. de Brevan hesitated, and then, after 
cautiously glancing round, he rapidly replied : 

“ Because he might very well cherish the hope of replac- 
ing Daniel in your heart, and of becoming your husband.” 

“ Great God !” exclaimed Henriette, sinking back in her 
chair with an expression of horror. “ Is it possible ?” 

“ I am quite sure of it,” replied M. de Brevan. And, as 
if he had frightened himself by this revelation, he added, 
“Yes, I am quite sure of it. I have read that man’s 
heart, and before long you will have some terrible evi- 
dence of his intentions. But I beg you, mademoiselle, let 
this remain a secret between us, to be kept religiously. 
Never allow yourself the slightest allusion.” 

“ What can I do ?” murmured the poor girl, “ what can I 
do? You alone, sir, can advise me.” 

For some time M. de Brevan remained silent, but at last 
he sorrowfully replied : 

“My experience, mademoiselle, supplies me with but 
one ad vice— be patient ; say and do as little as possible, 
and endeavor to appear insensible to their insults. I 
would say to you, if you will excuse the triviality of the 
comparison, imitate those feeble insects who simulate 
death when they are touched. They are defenseless, and 
that is their only chance of escape.” He rose from his 
seat, and bowing deeply to Henriette he added, “ I must 
also warn you, mademoiselle, not to be surprised if you 
see me doing everything in my power to win your step- 


“MY FATHER IS RUINED !” 


145 


mother’s good-will. Believe that such duplicity is very 
distasteful to my character. But I have no other means 
of obtaining the privilege of coming here frequently, of 
seeing you and being useful to you, as I promised your 
friend Daniel I would.” 


CHAPTER XV. 

“ MY FATHER IS RUINED !” 

During Daniel’s last visits to Henriette he had not con- 
cealed from her the fact that Maxime de Brevan had for- 
merly been on intimate terms with Sarah Brandon and her 
friends. However, in explaining his reasons for wishing 
to renew these relations M. de Brevan had acted with his 
usual diplomacy. Otherwise Henriette might have con- 
ceived some vague suspicions when she saw him, soon 
after leaving her, enter into a long conversation with the 
countess, then speak with Sir Tom, and finally chat most 
confidentially with austere Mrs. Brian. But, under the 
circumstances, she was by no means surprised. Moreover, 
her mind was now thousands of miles away. She was, in- 
deed, thinking of Daniel, and the precious letter in her 
pocket, and regretted that she had not the right to run 
away and read it at once. For adversity was gradually 
teaching her the advantages of cirumspection, and she re- 
alized that it would be unwise to leave the room before 
the last guests had retired. Thus it was past two o’clock 
in the morning before she could open the missive, after 
dismissing her maid Clarisse. Unfortunately, she did not 
find it to contain what she had hoped for — advice, or rather 
directions for her future conduct. The fact is that in his 
terrible distress Daniel was no longer sufficiently master 
of himself to look calmly into the future, and weigh the 
probabilities. In his despair he had filled three pages with 
assurances of his love, with promises that his last thoughts 
would be for her, and with prayers that she would not for- 
get him. Hardly twenty lines were devoted to advice, and 
yet he ought to have entered into the most precise and 
minute details. All his suggestions amounted to this — 
arm yourself with patience and resignation till my return. 
Do not leave your father’s house unless at the last extrem- 
ity — if threatened, for instance, with immediate danger — 
and under no circumstances do so without first of all con- 
sulting Maxime. To complete Daniel’s blunder, his exces- 


146 


“MY FATHER IS RUINED !” 


sive delicacy had made him shrink from saying anything 
likely to wound his friend’s over-sensitive feelings, and 
thus he had omitted to acquaint Henriette with certain 
most important circumstances. For instance, he merely 
told her that if flight became her only resource she need 
not hesitate from pecuniary considerations, for he had 
foreseen everything, and made all needful provision. 
These words were by no means precise enough for her to 
guess that her lover had blindly intrusted his entire for- 
tune to his friend Maxime. However, both M. de Erevan 
and Daniel expressed the same opinion as to her future 
course, and this sufficed to reassure her. She determined 
to follow their advice, and to submit without a word of 
complaint or a gesture of resistance to all the insults and 
outrages her enemies might heap upon her. She meant 
to follow the example which Maxime had drawn from t in- 
sect life. 

Months elapsed, and she never went beyond the garden 
walls, save on Sunday mornings-to attend mass at a neigh- 
boring church. Her father could scarcely refuse her that, 
and yet he only allowed her to absent herself escorted by 
his valet, who had express orders not to allow her to speak 
to any one whatsoever, and to “ apprehend” her (this was 
M. de Ville-Handry’s own expression), and bring her home 
by force if she made the least attempt to escape. They 
were not merely afraid of her escaping, but even seemed 
to dread her having any secret communciation with the 
outer world. To fix her suspicions on that point, she one 
morning asked her father’s, permission to send to the 
Duchess de Champdoce, and beg her to come and spend 
the day with her. But the count brutally replied that he 
did not desire to see the Duchess de Champdoce, and that 
besides she was not in Paris, as her husband had taken 
her south to hasten her recovery from a long illness. On 
another occasion, toward the end of February — spring was 
early that year, and there had been a succession of sev- 
eral fine days — the poor child could not help expressing a 
desire to take exercise and breathe a little fresh air, where- 
upon her father replied : 

“Every day your mother and I drive for an hour or two 
in the Bois de Boulogne. Why don’t you go with us?” 

Henriette made no rejoinder. She would sooner have, 
suffered martyrdom than have appeared in public, seated 
in the same carriage as the countess, and by her side. 

In the meanwhile she had no other assistance or support 
than such as she received from M. de Brevan, who, in 


‘MY FATHER IS RUINED!” 


147 


accordance with the plan he had mentioned to her, had 
succeeded in acquiring the right to be a frequent visitor. 
He was on the best terms with Mrs. Brian, and the count 
invited him to dinner several times. By this time Hen- 
riette had quite overcome all prejudice against him. He 
displayed such a respectful interest in her welfare, such 
almost feminine delicacy, and so much prudence and dis- 
cretion, that she blessed Daniel for having left her this 
friend upon whose devotion she counted as on a brother’s. 
Had he not on certain evenings, when she was well-nigh 
overcome with despair, restored her courage by whisper- 
ing : 

u Be brave ; here is another day gone ! Daniel will soon 
be barck !” 

The greater Henriette’s isolation became the more she 
observed what was going on around her. And she thought 
she noticed some very strange changes. Her mother would 
never have been able to recognize her reception-rooms. 
What had become of the select society the count’s first 
wife had gathered together and fashioned into something 
like a court, over which her husband towered like a king ? 
Nowadays the mansion had, so to say, become the head- 
quarters of that motley society which forms the “Foreign 
Legion” of pleasure and scandal. At first the Count de 
Ville-Handry had been rather shocked by thi^ new soci- 
ety, whose manners and customs were unknown to him, 
and whose language even he hardly understood. But it 
had not taken long to acclimatize him. He was the flag 
that covers the merchandise, the nominal master, although 
in reality he exercised no authority whatever. He was 
treated with the most profound respect, and all Sarah’s 
subjects and allies vied with each other in flattering him. 
They displayed such abject admiration for his talents that 
he fancied he had regained the prestige lie had enjoyed in 
former days, thanks to his first wife’s skillful manage- 
ment, and assumed an air of grotesque importance on a 
par with his revived vanity. He was, moreover, again 
employing all the lawyers and agents who had been in the 
habit of calling upon him before his marriage. They now 
reappeared, with a legion of those famished speculators 
whom the mere report of a great enterprise attracts as in- 
vincibly as a fly is attracted by a lump of sugar. The 
count would shut himself up in his study with these men, 
and often spend the whole afternoon with them there. 
Henriette was wondering what new misfortune was about 
to happen, when, to her amazement, her father unhesitat- 


148 


4 ‘MY FATHER IS RUINED !” 


ingly gave up the splendid apartments on the ground floor 
of the house, and allowed them to be cut up into an infinite 
number of small rooms. On the doors there soon appeared 
various inscriptions, of a kind seldom found in aristocratic 
mansions, such as “Office,” “Board Room,” “Secretary,” 
“Cashier’s Room,” etc. Then cartloads of office furniture 
arrived — tables, desks, and chairs ; next mountains of 
huge volumes, ledgers, day-books, and so on, and finally, 
two huge safes, as large as many a bachelor’s lodging. 

Henriette was now seriously alarmed, and knowing be- 
forehand that no one in the house would answer her ques- 
tions, she turned to M. de Brevan, wffio, in an off-hand 
manner, assured her that he knew nothing about the mat- 
ter, but would inquire, and let her know as soon as possi- 
ble. There was no necessity, however, for him to do so, 
for one morning, while Henriette was wandering listlessly 
round the offices, she noticed a huge poster affixed to one 
of the doors. On approaching she read as follows : 

The Franco- American Company, 

For the development of the 
PENNSYLVANIA PETROLEUM WELLS. 

Capital , — Ten Millions of Francs. 

In Twenty Thousand Shares of 500 Francs each. 

The Charter may be seen at the Office of M. Lilois, public 
notary. 

Chairman: The Count de Ville-Handry, 

Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor ; Member of the 
Corps Legislate, &c., &c., &c. 

Applications for shares will be received on and after the 
25th of March. 

Principal Office at the 

Count de Ville-Handry ’s Mansion, Rue de Varennes. 

Branch Office — Rue Lepelletier, No. 79. 

At the foot, in small print, followed a most elaborate 
prospectus, setting forth, in glowing terms, the imperative 
necessity which had led to the establishment of the Penn- 
sylvania Petroleum Company, the nature of its proposed 
operations, the immense services it would render to the 
world at large, and above all the huge profits which would 
promptly accrue to the shareholders. Then came a semi- 
scientific account of the nature of petroleum, in which it 
was clearly demonstrated that this admirable product rep- 
resented, in comparison with other oils, a saving of more 
than sixty per cent. ; that it gave a light of matchless 


“MY FATHER IS RUINED !‘* 


i49 


purity and brilliancy ; that it burned without the least 
smell ; and, above all, that in spite of the statements made 
by interested persons, there was no possible danger of ex- 
plosion connected with its use. “In less than twenty 
years,” continued the prospectus in a strain of lyric proph- 
ecy, “petroleum will have taken the place of all the prim- 
itive and useless illuminating mediums now employed. It 
will replace, in like manner, all the coarse and trouble- 
some varieties of fuel of our day. In less than twenty 
years the whole world will be lighted and heated by petro- 
leum, and the oil-wells of Pennsylvania are inexhaustible.” 
To crown the whole affair the placard finished with an 
effusive eulogy of the chairman, the famous Count de 
Ville-Handry, who was spoken of as a man sent by Provi- 
dence ; especial mention being made of his colossal private 
fortune, which, it was suggested, would effectively screen 
the shareholders from any risk. Henriette was over- 
whelmed with surprise. 

“ Ah l” said she, “ so this is what Sarah Brandon and her 
accomplices were aiming at. My father is ruined !” 

She could not understand how he could assume the whole 
responsibility of such a hazardous enterprise, and deliber- 
ately run the terrible risk of failure. With his deeply 
rooted aristocratic prejudices, moreover, how could he 
ever consent to lend his name to an industrial enterprise ? 

“ It must have required prodigious patience and cun- 
ning,” she thought, “to induce him to surrender his cher- 
ished old convictions. They* must have worried him terri- 
bly, and brought fearful pressuie to bear upon him.” 

She was therefore truly amazed when, two days after- 
ward, she accidentally witnessed a lively discussion be- 
tween her father and the countess on the subject of these 
famous placards^ which were now scattered all over Paris, 
and, indeed, all over France. The countess seemed to be 
distressed by the whole affair, and laid before her husband 
all the objections which Henriette herself would have 
liked to have urged ; and she did so with all the authority 
she derived from the count’s passionate affection. She 
did not understand, she said, how her husband, a noble- 
man of ancient lineage, could stoop to “money making.” 
Had he not enough wealth already? Would he be any 
happier if he had twice or thrice as many thousands a 
year? He met all these objections with an indulgent 
smile, like a great artist who hears an ignoramus criticise 
his work. And when the countess paused he deigned to 
explain to her in that emphatic manner which betrayed 


150 


‘MY FATHER IS RUINED !” 


his intense conceit, that if he, a representative of the very 
oldest nobility, threw himself into the great industrial 
movement of the century it was for the purpose of setting 
a lofty example. He had no desire for “filthy lucre,” he 
assured her, but only desired to render his country a great 
service. 

“Too dangerous a service !” replied the countess. “If 
you succeed, as you hope, who will thank you for it? No 
one. More than that, if you speak of disinterestedness, 
people will laugh in your face. If the thing fails, on the 
other hand, who will have to pay? You yourself, and 
folks will call you a blockhead into the bargain.” 

The Count de Ville-Handry shrugged his shoulders, "and 
taking his wife by the hand replied : 

“Would you love me less if I were ruined ?” 

She raised her beautiful eyes beaming with affection, 
and replied in a soft voice : 

“ God is my witness, my friend, that I should be delighted 
to be able to prove to you that I did not marry you for 
money.” 

“Sarah!” cried the count, in ecstasy, “Sarah, my dar- 
ling, that word is worth the whole of the fortune you 
blame me for risking.” 

Much as Henrietta was inclined to mistrust appearances, 
she never supposed that this scene had been most cun- 
ningly devised with the view of impressing the coming in- 
dustrial enterprise more forcibly than ever on the count’s 
feeble mind. She fancied that this Petroleum Company, 
founded at Sir Tom’s instigation, was really unpleasant to 
the countess, and that discord reigned in the enemy’s 
camp. The result of her meditations w^ a long letter to 
a nobleman for whom her mother had always entertained 
great esteem — the Duke de Champdoce. After explaining 
to him her situation she told him all that she knew of the 
new enteprise, and besought him to interfere while it was 
yet time. When her letter was ready she gave it to Clar- 
isse, urging her to carry it at once to its address, but hav- 
ing by chance followed the maid down stairs she saw her 
enter the countess’ room, and hand her the letter. So she 
was betrayed even by the girl whom she thought so de- 
voted to her interests. How long had this treachery been 
going on ? Perhaps ever since the outset of her troubles. 
Many things which had hitherto seemed perfectly incom- 
prehensible were now fully explained. In her despair and 
wrath she forgot the reserve she had sought to impose 


“MY FATHER IS RUINED 1” 151 

upon herself, and rushing into the countess’ room ex- 
claimed : 

“ Give me that letter, madam.” 

Clarisse had fled when she saw her treachery discovered. 

“I shall hand this letter, mademoiselle,” replied the 
countess, coldly, “to your father, as it is my duty to do.” 

“ Ah, take care, madam !” cried Henriette, with a threat- 
ening gesture ; “ take care ! My patience has its limits. ” 

Her attitude and accent were so ominous that the coun- 
tess thought it prudent to put a table between herself and 
her victim. But suddenly a great revolution took place 
in Henriette’s heart, and in a calmer tone she continued : 

“Let us have an explanation, madam, while we are 
alone. What do you want me to do ?” 

“Nothing, I assure you.” 

“Nothing? Who is it, then, that has meanly slandered 
me, and robbed me of my father’s affection, who surrounds 
me with spies, and overwhelms me with insults ? Who 
forces me to lead this wretched life to which I am coh- 
demned ?” 

The countess’ features showed how deeply she was re- 
flecting. She was evidently calculating the effect of some 
new plan. 

“You will have it so,” she replied, resolutely. “Very 
well, then, I will be frank with you. Yes, I am bent upon 
ruining you. Why ? You know it as well as I do. I will 
ask you, in my turn, who did everything that could possi- 
bly be done to prevent my marriage ? Who endeavored to 
crush me ? Who would like to drive me from this house 
branded with infamy? Is it not you — always you? Yes, 
you are right. I hate you ; I hate you unto death, and I 
mean to avenge myself.” 

“ Madam !” 

“Wait! What harm had I done you before my mar- 
riage ? None. You did not even know me by name. Peo- 
ple came and told you atrocious stories invented ’by my 
enemies, and you believed them. Your father told you, 

‘ They are wicked libels. ’ What did you answer ? That 
‘ only those are libeled who deserve it. ’ I wanted to prove 
to you that it is’t so. You are the purest, chastest girl I 
know, are you not? Very well. I admit it, but I defy 
you to find a single person around you who does not believe 
that you have had lovers.” 

Extreme situations have this peculiarity, that the prin- 
cipal actors may be agitated by the most furious passions, 
and still outwardly preserve the greatest calmness. Thus 


152 


“MY FATHER IS RUINED ! ’ 


these two women, who were burning with mortal hatred, 
spoke with almost calm voices. 

“And you think, madam,” resumed Henriette, “that 
sufferings like mine can be long continued ?” 

“ They will be continued till it pleases me to put an end 
to them.” 

“ Or till I come of age. ” 

The countess made a great effort to conceal her surprise. 

“ Oh, oh !” said she to herself. 

“ Or,” continued the young girl, “ till he whom you parted 
from me — M. Daniel Charnpcey — returns.” 

“Stop, mademoiselle. You are mistaken. I did not 
send Daniel away.” 

Daniel ! the countess familiarly called him by his Chris- 
tian name. Had she any right to do so ? Yi hat was the 
meaning of this extraordinary impudence ? Henriette con- 
jectured it to be only a new insult ; no suspicion entered 
her mind, and she replied, ironically : 

“Then it wasn’t you who sent that letter to the Ministry 
of Marine? It wasn’t you who ordered and paid for the 
forged document which caused M. Charnpcey to be sent 
abroad ?” 

“ No ; and I told him so myself the day before he left in 
his own room.” 

Henriette was overwhelmed. What ? This woman had 
gone to see Daniel ? Was it true ? Assuredly not. It was 
not even plausible. 

“ In his room ?” she repeated. “ In his room ?” 

“ Why, ye*s, in the Rue de P Uni ver site. I foresaw the 
trick, and I wished to prevent it, but unfortunately I 
failed. I had a thousand reasons for wishing that he 
should remain in Paris.” 

“ A thousand reasons ? You ? Tell me only one !” 

The countess courtesied, as if excusing herself for being 
forced to tell the truth against her inclination, and added, 
simply : 

“ I love him 1” 

As if she had suddenly seen an abyss opening beneath 
her feet, Henriette threw herself back, pale, trembling, her 
eyes starting from their sockets. 

“ You — love — Daniel !” she stammered — “ you love him !” 
And, agitated by a nervous tremor, she added, laughing 
painfully : “ But he— he ? Can you hope that he will ever 
love you?” 

“ Yes, any day I wish it. And I shall wish it the day 
when he returns.” 


“M¥ FATHER IS RUINED !” 


153 


Was she speaking seriously, or was the whole scene 
only a bit of cruel sport ? This is what Henriette asked 
herself, as far as she was able to control her intellect, for 
she felt her head growing dizzy, and her thoughts rushed 
wildly through her mind. 

“You love Daniel !” she repeated once more. “And yet 
you were married the very week after his departure.” 

“Alas, yes.” 

“And what was my father to you ? A magnificent prey, 
which you did not like to let escape — an easy dupe. After 
all, you acknowledge it yourself, it was his fortune you 
wanted. It was for his money’s sake that you — you — the 
marvelously beautiful young woman — married the old 
man.” 

A smile curved the countess’ lips, revealing all the deep 
treachery of her secret calculations. 

“I? I coveted the dear count’s fortune?” said she, with 
an ironical laugh. “You can’t mean it, mademoiselle? 
Have you so completely forgotten how, only the other day 
in your presence, I tried my utmost to turn him from this 
enterprise in which he is about to embark all he pos- 
sesses?” 

Henriette hardly knew whether she was awake or asleep. 
Was she not perhaps under the influence of some halluci- 
nation caused by fever ? 

“And you dare tell all these things to me, to the Count 
de Ville-Handry’s own daughter, your husband’s daugh- 
ter,” she said. 

“Why not?” asked the countess. And shrugging her 
shoulders, she added, in a careless tone, “ Do you think I 
am afraid of your reporting me to him ? You are at lib- 
erty to try it. Listen. I think I hear your father’s foot- 
step in the hall ; call him in, and tell him what we have 
been talking about.” And as Henriette made no rejoinder 
she laughed, and resumed, “Ah, you hesitate. You don’t 
dare do it? Well, you are wrong. I mean to hand him 
your letter, and I shall call him.” 

There was no need for it, for at the same moment the 
count entered, followed by grim Mrs. Brian. On perceiv- 
ing his wife and daughter together, his face lighted up 
immediately, and he exclaimed : 

“What ! You are here, both of you, chatting amicably 
like two charming sisters ? My Henriette has come back 
to her senses, I trust. ” 

They were both silent, and then noting how fiercely 
they looked at each other, he continued, in a bitter tone : 


154 


“MY FATHER IS RUINED !” 


“ No, I see I’m mistaken. I am not so fortunate. What 
is the matter ? What has happened ?” 

The countess shook her head sorrowfully, and replied : 

“ Your daughter has written a letter to one of my cruel- 
est enemies, to the Duke de Champdoce. ” 

u And has any one of my servants dared to carry that 
letter ?” 

“No, my friend. It was brought to me in obedience to 
your orders ; and the young lady haughtily summoned me 
to return it to her. * 

“ That letter ?” cried the count. “ Where is it ?” 

“ Perhaps it would be better to throw it into the fire 
without reading it,” said the countess, as she handed it to 
him. 

But he had already torn the envelope open, and was 
reading the first lines. Almost immediately a flush suf- 
fused his forehead, and his eyes became blood-shot, for 
Henriette, sure of the Duke de Champdoce, had not hesi- 
tated to open her heart to him, but had described her situ- 
ation as it really was ; painting her step-mother as he had 
anticipated she would be, and at frequent intervals came 
phrases which were so many dagger thrusts to the poor 
infatuated count. 

“ This is unheard of !” he growled, with a curse. “This 
is incomprehensible ! Such perversity has never been 
known before.” 

And approaching his daughter, with crossed arms, he 
cried, with a voice of thunder : 

“You wretch ! Will you disgrace us all?” 

She made no reply. As immovable as a statue, she did 
not even tremble under the storm. Besides, what could 
she do ? Defend herself ? She would not stoop to do that. 
Repeat the countess’ impudent avowals? What would be 
the use ? Did she not know beforehand that her father 
would never believe her. 

In the meantime grim Mrs. Brian had taken a seat by 
the side of her beloved Sarah. 

“If for my sins,” said she, “I were afflicted with such a 
daughter, I would get her a husband as soon as possible.” 

“I have thought of that,” replied the count, “and I be- 
lieve I have even hit upon an arrangment which ” 

But when he noted his daughter’s watchful eye fixed 
upon him he paused, and pointing toward the door brutally 
exclaimed : 

“You are in the way here !” 

W ithout saying a word she left the room, much less 


MORE SUFFERING. 


155 


troubled by her father’s fury than by the countess’ strange 
confessions. She only now began to measure the full 
extent of her step-mother’s hatred. She knew that she 
was too practical a woman to waste her time in making 
idle speeches. Hence, if she had stated that she loved 
Daniel — a statement which Henriette believed to be untrue 
— if she had impudently confessed that she coveted her 
husband’s fortune, she had a purpose in view. What 
was that purpose ? How could any one unearth t'he truth 
from among such a mass of falsehood and deception ? At 
all events, the scene was strange enough to confound any 
one’s judgment. And when Henriette that evening found 
an opportunity to tell M. de Brevan what had happened he 
trembled in his chair, and was so overwhelmed with sur- 
prise that he forgot his usual precautions, and exclaimed, 
almost aloud : : 

“ That isn’t possible 1” 

He — usually so impassive — was certainly terribly ex- 
cited, and in less than five minutes he changed color fully 
a dozen times. It seemed as if he perceived the edifice of 
all his hopes crumbling to pieces. At last, after a little 
reflection, he remarked : 

“Perhaps it would be wise, mademoiselle, for you to 
leave the house.” 

“What? How can I do that?” she answered, sorrow- 
fully. “ After such odious slander, my honor and Daniel’s 
honor oblige me to remain here. He recommends me only 
to fly at the last extremity, and when there is no other 
resource left. Now, I ask you, shall I be more unhappy 
or more seriously threatened to-morrow than I am to-day ? 
Evidently not.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

» 

MORE SUFFERING. 

The confidence which Henriette expressed was not real. 
She had terrible presentiments, and a secret voice seemed 
to tell her that this scene — no doubt carefully prepared 
beforehand — was but another step leading to the final ca- 
tastrophe. Some days, however, passed by, and nothing 
unusual happened. It seemed as if her persecutors had 
resolved to give her a short respite. She was not even so 
carefully watched as usual. The countess kept out of her 
way, and Mrs. Brian no longer frightened her with her in- 


156 


MORE SUFFERING. 


cessant taunts. Her father she seldom saw, for he was 
entirely absorbed in the preparations for launching the 
Pennsylvania Petroleum Company ; and thus a week later 
it seemed as if every one had forgotten the terrible explo- 
sion caused by her letter to the Duke de Champdoce. It 
should be mentioned, however, that on the very evening 
after that distressing scene, Sir Thomas Elgin’s generous 
indignation so far got the better of his usual reserve, and 
repeated pledges of neutrality, that he took the Countess 
Sarah aside, and sharply reproached her. 

“You will have to eat your own words,” he said, among 
other things, “ if you use such abominable means to grat- 
ify your spite.” 

It is true that, while speaking to his kinswoman, he took 
pains to be overheard by Henriette. And, indeed, as if 
fearing that she might not fully appreciate his sentiments, 
he stealthily pressed her hand, and whispered into her 
ear : 

“ Poor, dear girl ! Fortunately I am here, and will 
watch.” 

This sounded like a promise to afford her protection, 
which certainly would have proved efficacious if it had 
been sincere. But was it sincere ? 

“No ; most assuredly not !” replied M. de Brevan when 
he was consulted. “ It can be nothing but vile hypocrisy, 
and the beginning of an abominable farce. However, you 
will see, mademoiselle.” 

The first spectacle offered to Henriette’s view was a com- 
plete transformation in Sir Tom’s manner. He, once so 
frigid and reserved, lately so sympathetically benevolent, 
now began to show signs of a yet more tender sentiment. 
It was not pity now which beamed forth from his big, 
blue-china eyes, but the suppressed flame of a discreet 
passion. In public he did not particularly commit him- 
self, but there was no little attention which he did not 
stealthily pay Henriette. He never left the room before 
her, and on the reception evenings he always took a seat 
by her side, and remained there till the end. The most 
unpleasant consequences of these maneuvers was that it 
prevented her from speaking to M. de Brevan. The latter 
naturally became very indignant, and conceived so violent 
a dislike for Sir Tom that he could hardly contain himself. 

“Well, mademoiselle,” he said to Henriette, on one of 
the few occasions when he was able to speak to her, “ well, 
what did I tell you ? Does the scamp show his hand clearly 
enough now ?” 


MORE SUFFERING. 


157 


Henriette did all she could to discourage her eccentric 
lover, but it was impossible for her to avoid him, as they 
lived under the same roof, and sat down twice a day at the 
same table. 

“The simplest way,” was M. de Brevan’s advice, “would 
be, perhaps, to provoke an explanation.” 

However, Sir Tom did not wait to be asked. One morn- 
ing after breakfast he waited for Henriette in the hall, and 
directly she appeared he exclaimed in an embarrassed 
manner : 

“I must speak to you, mademoiselle, it is absolutely 
necessary. ” 

She did not manifest any surprise, but simply replied : 

“Follow me, sir.” 

They both entered the drawing-room and remained a 
minute standing face to face without exchanging a word, 
she striving to keep up her spirits, and he so overcome 
that he had apparently lost the use of his voice. At last, 
all of a sudden, and after making, as it were, a supreme 
effort, Sir Tom began in a panting voice to inform Henri- 
ette that it was in her power to make him the happiest or 
most miserable of mortals. Touched by her innocence, 
and the persecutions to which she was exposed, he had at 
first pitied her, and then, daily discovering her more ex- 
cellent qualities, her unusual energy blended with charm- 
ing bashfulness, he had no longer been able to resist such 
marvelous attractions. 

Henriette, who was convinced that Sir Tom was only 
acting a wretched farce, observed him as closely as she 
could, and at the first pause he made began : 

“ Believe me, sir ” 

“Oh! I beseech you, mademoiselle,” he resumed, with 
unusual vehemence, “ let me finish. Many in my place 
would have spoken to your father ; but I thought that 
would hardly be fair in your exceptional position. Still, 
I have reason to believe that the Count de Ville-Handry 
would look upon my proposals with favor. But then he 
might try to do violence to your feelings ; and I wish to 
be indebted to you alone, mademoiselle ; I wish you to de- 
cide freely, for — — ” An expression of intense anxiety 
contracted his usually impassive features, and he added, 
with great earnestness, “ Mademoiselle Henriette, I am an 
honorable man ; I love you. Will you be my wife?” 

By a stroke of instinctive genius he had found the only 
argument calculated to prove his sincerity. However, 
what did that matter to Henriette? 


158 


MORE SUFFERING. 


“Believe me, sir,” she replied, “I fully appreciate the 
honor you do me ; but I am no longer free ” 

“I beseech you ” 

“ I have freely chosen M. Daniel Champcey from among 
all others. My life is in his hands.” 

Sir Tom tottered as if he had received a heavy blow, and 
stammered : 

“ Will ^ou not leave me a glimpse of hope?” 

“ I should act wrongly in doing so, sir ; and I have never 
yet deceived any one. I have told you, sir, I am no 
longer free.” 

“Yes, to be snre. You love M. Daniel Champcey. You 
love him. He knows it, for you told him so, no doubt, 
and yet he has forsaken you. It is ten months now since 
he left you, and no one knows how many more months, 
or, indeed, how many years, he will be absent. For his 
sake you suffer martyrdom, and when he returns he may 
have long since forgotten you.” 

Henriette’s eyes beamed with faith as she rose to her 
full height, and replied : 

“I believe in Daniel as surely as in myself.” 

“And if it were proved that you were mistaken?” 

“ The person who did so would render me a very sad 
service, which would bring no reward to any one.” 

Sir Tom’s lips parted as if he were about to answer. But 
some hidden thought seemingly made him pause, and he 
merely remarked, with a gesture of despair : 

“Keep your illusions, mademoiselle — farewell.” 

He was about to leave the room when she intercepted 
him, and imperatively exclaimed : 

“You have gone too far, sir, to retrace your steps. You 
are bound now to justify your insidious insinuations, or to 
confess that they were false.” 

“You will have it so?” said he. “Well, let it be so. 
Know then, since you insist upon it, that M. Daniel Champ- 
cey has been deceiving you most wickedly ; that he does 
not love you, and probably never did love you.” 

“That’s what you say,” replied Henriette. 

Her haughty bearing, and the disdain with 'which she 
spoke could not fail to exasperate Sir Tom. He checked 
himself, however, and resumed in a curt, incisive tone : 

“I say so because it is so, and anyone but you, possess- 
ing a less noble ignorance of evil, would long since have 
discovered the truth. To what cause do you attribute 
Sarah’s implacable enmity ? To the recollection of your 
conduct on her wedding-day ? Ah ! if that had been every- 


MOKE SUFFERING. 


159 


thing, her resentment would have died out months ago. 
Jealousy alone is capable of such fierce and insatiable 
hatred — a hatred which neither tears nor submission can 
disarm, which time increases instead of diminishing. Be- 
tween Sarah and you, Mile. Henriette, there stands a 
man. ” 

“A man ?” / 

“Yes — M. Daniel Champcey.” 

Henriette felt as if a sharp knife had been plunged into 
her bosom. 

“I don’t understand you, sir,” she said. 

Shrugging his shoulders, and assuming an air of com- 
misseration he resumed : 

“What? Can’t you understand that Sarah is your 
rival ; that she loves M. Champcey ; that she is madly in 
love with him ? Ah, they cruelly deceived both Mrs. Brian 
and .myself.” 

“How so?” 

He turned his head aside, and murmured, as if speaking 
to himself : 

“Yes, his mistress.” 

“That’s false,” retorted Henriette, with almost mascu- 
line fierceness. 

“You asked me to tell the truth,” said Sir Tom, coldly, 
“ and I have done so. Try to remember. Have you for- 
gotten that little scene, after which M. Champcey fled 
from our house in the middle of the night bare-headed, and 
without even taking his overcoat ?” 

“Sir?” . 

“ Didn’t you think that was extraordinary ? That night, 
you see, we discovered the whole thing. After being one 
of the foremost to advise Sarah to marry your father, M. 
Champcey came and asked her to give up all idea of such 
a marriage. He had previously tried to break it off 
through your agency, mademoiselle, thus using his influ- 
ence over his betrothed for the benefit of his passion.” 

“ Ah ! what an impudent lie !” ejaculated Henriette. 

“I have proofs,” coldly rejoined Sir Tom, apparently 
disdaining the insult. 

“What proofs?” 

“Letters written by M. Champcey to Sarah. I have ob- 
tained two of them, and have them here in my pocket- 
book.” 

He was feeling in his pocket when she stopped him. 

“These letters would prove nothing to me, sir,” said she. 

“But ” 


160 MORE SUFFERING. 

Giving him a withering glance she continued, in a con- 
temptuous voice : 

“ The persons who sent a letter to the Minister of Ma- 
rine, purporting to have come from Daniel, can have no 
difficulty in imitating his signature. Let us br^ak off here, 
sir. I forbid you ever to speak to me again.” 

“ Is that your last word ?” asked Sir Tom, with a fierce 
laugh. 

Instead of answering him she drew a step aside, and 
pointed to the door. 

“ Well,” said Sir Tom, in a threatening manner, “re- 
member this : I have sworn you shall be my wife, whether 
you will or not, and my wife you shall be.” 

“Leave the room, sir, or I must give it up to you.” 

He retired, swearing, and then, more dead than alive, 
Henriette sank into an arm-chair. As long as she had 
been in presence of the enemy her pride had enabled her 
to retain the appearance of abolute faith in Daniel, but now 
she was alone terrible doubts beset her mind. Might there 
not be something true at the bottom of Sir Tom’s evident 
exaggerations ? Had not Sarah also boasted that she loved 
Daniel, and that she had been to see him at his rooms ? 
Finally, when Daniel told her of his adventure in the Rue 
du Cirque, had he not grown embarrassed toward the end 
of his narrative, and failed to fully explain the reasons of 
his flight ? To crown the matter, when she had tried to 
obtain additional information on the subject from M. de 
Brevan she had been struck by his Gonfusion, and the 
lame way in which he defended his friend. 

“Ah, now all is really over !” she thought. “The meas- 
ure of my sufferings is full, indeed !” 

Unhappily for her, such was not the case. A new infa- 
mous, monstrous persecution awaited her, by the side of 
which all the others amounted to nothing. 

“ Whether you will or not, you shall be mine.” 

Such had been Sir Tom’s words, and from that moment 
he seemed bent upon convincing her that he would shrink 
from nothing — not even from violence. He was no longer 
the sympathetic defender of former days, nor the timid 
lover, nor the sighing, rejected suitor, following Henriette 
all over the house like a pet dog. He became a kind of 
wild beast, ever harassing and persecuting: her, and glar- 
ing at her with lustful eyes ; he lay in wait for her in all 
the passages, seemingly seeking an opportunity to throw 
himself upon her, projecting his lips as if to touch her 
cheeks, and extending his arms as if to seize her round 


MORE SUFFERING. 


161 


the waist. A drunken lackey pursuing a scullion would 
not have looked or acted more impudently. In her terror 
the poor girl threw herself at her father’s feet, and be- 
sought him to protect her. But he pushed her back, and 
reproached her for slandering a most honorable and inof- 
fensive man. Blindness could go no farther. Sir Tom 
probably knew Of her failure, for the next day he laughed 
in her face, as if he felt that he might now venture upon 
anything. And he did venture upon something that so 
far had seemed impossible. One evening, or rather one 
night, when the count and countess were at a ball, he came 
and knocked at Henriette’s bedroom door. In her fright 
she rang the bell, and the servants who came up freed her 
from her persecutor. But from that moment her terrors 
had no limit, and whenever the count went out at night 
with his wife, she barricaded herself in her room, and 
spent the whole night, dressed, on a chair. Could she re- 
main any longer standing on the brink of an abyss without 
name ? She thought she could not, and after a long and 
painful hesitation she said one evening to M. de Brevan : 

“ My mind is made up ; I must fly.” 

Taken aback, as if he had received a blow, with open 
mouth and glaring eyes, M. de Brevan turned deadly pale, 
and the perspiration pearled in large drops on his temples, 
while his hands trembled like those of a man who is about 
to seize a long-coveted prize. 

“So you are decided,” he stammered, “ you will leave 
your.father’s house?” 

“I must,” she replied, and her eyes filled with tears. 
“ And the sooner I can do so the better — for every moment 
I spend here now may bring a new danger. And yet, be- 
fore risking anything decisive, it might be better first to 
write to Daniel’s aunt in order to ask her about the direc- 
tions she may have received, and to tell her that I shall 
soon come to ask for her pity and protection.” 

“ What ? Do you think of seeking refuge at that esti- 
mable lady’s house?” 

“ Certainly. ” 

M. de Brevan, now master of himself again, and calcu- 
lating with his usual calmness, gravely shook his head, 
and said : 

“You ought to be careful, mademoiselle. It might be 
very imprudent to seek an asylum at the house of our 
friend’s relative.” 

“But Daniel recommended me to do so in his letter.” 

“ Yes, but he did not consider the consequences of the 


162 


MORE SUFFERING. 


advice he gave you. Don’t deceive yourself ; the wrath 
of your enemies will be terrible when they discover you 
have escaped. They will pursue you ; employ the police, 
and search for you all over France. Now, it is evident 
that the very first persons they may suspect of harboring 
you will be Daniel’s relatives. The old lady’s house will 
be watched at once. How can you escape from inquiry 
and pursuit there ? It would be folly to hope for safety 
there.” 

Henriette hung her head pensively. 

“Perhaps you are right, sir,” said she. 

“Now,” continued M. de Brevan, “let us see what they 
would do if they discovered you. As you are not of age 
you are entirely dependent on your father’s will. At your 
step-mother’s instigation he would attack Daniel’s aunt 
on the charge of abducting a minor, and would bring you 
back here.” 

She seemed to reflect, and then suddenly exclaimed : 

“ I can implore the assistance of the Duchess de Champ- 
doce.” 

“ Unfortunately, mademoiselle, you were told the truth. 
For a year now the Duke de Champdoce and his wife have 
been traveling in Italy.” 

A gesture of despair revealed the poor girl’s dejection. 

“ Great God l” she said, “ what can I do ?” 

A smile flitted across M. de Brevan’s face, and he an- 
swered in his most persuasive manner : 

“Will you permit me to offer you some advice, made- 
moiselle ?” 

“Ah, sir, I beg you to do so, for Heaven’s sake.” 

“Well, this is the only plan that seems to me feasible. 
To-morrow morning I will rent a suitable lodging, a mod- 
est little chamber in some quiet house, where you may 
live till you come of age, or till Daniel returns. No detec- 
tive will ever think of seeking for the Count de Ville- 
Handry’s daughter in a pocr needlewoman’s garret.” 

“ And must I stay there alone, forsaken and lost ?” 

“It is a sacrifice which seems to me necessary for safe- 
ty’s sake.” 

She remained for a moment weighing the alterna- 
tive — should she remain at home or accept M. de Brevan’s 
proposition. At last she spoke. “I will follow your ad- 
vice, sir ; only ” 

She blushed deeply, and was evidently painfully embar- 
rassed. 

“You see,” she said, after long hesitation, “all this will 


MOKE SUFFERING. 


163 


cost money. Formerly I always used to have a thousand 
francs or so somewhere in my drawers, but now ” 

“Mademoiselle,” interrupted M. de Brevan, “is not my 
whole fortune entirely at your disposal ?” 

“To be sure, I have my jewels, and they are valuable.” 

“ For that very reason you ought not to take them with 
you. We must guard against everything. We may fail. My 
share in the attempt may be discovered, and who knows 
what charges might be brought against me ?” 

This remark would have sufficed to enlighten many peo- 
ple as to Maxime’s real character, but it failed to enlighten 
Henriette. 

“Well, prepare everything as you think best, sir,” she 
said, sadly. “ I rely entirely upon your friendship, devo- 
tion, and honor.” 

M. de Brevan had a slight attack of coughing, which 
prevented him from answering at first. Then, finding 
that Henriette was bent upon escaping, hs tried to devise 
a plan. She proposed that they should wait for a night 
when the count might take the countess to a ball. She 
might then slip into the garden, and climb the wall. But 
the attempt seemed too dangerous in M. de Brevan’s eyes. 

“I think,” said he, “that I can manage something bet- 
ter. Isn’t the Count de Ville-Handry soon going to give a 
grand entertainment ?” 

“Yes, on the day after to-morrow — Thursday.” 

“All right. On Thursday morning, mademoiselle, you 
must complain of a bad headache, and send for the doc- 
tor. He will prescribe something, I dare say, which you 
will not take ; but the others, thinking you are indis- 
posed, will watch you less carefully. At night, however, 
toward ten o’clock, you must come down and conceal 
yourself at the foot of the back stairs, in the corner of 
the court-yard. You can do that, I presume?” 

“Very easily, sir.” 

“ In that case all will be right. I will be here with a 
carriage at ten o’clock precisely. My coachman, whom I 
will instruct beforehand, will pretend to make a mistake, 
and drive to the side door instead of drawing up at the 
grand entrance. I shall jump out at once, and you — you 
must spring swiftly into the carriage.” 

“Yes, that can be done.” 

“As the curtains will be down no one will see you. The 
carriage will drive out again, and wait for me outside, 
and ten minutes later I shall have joined you.” 

The plan being agreed upon, M. de Brevan then regu 


164 


“IS THAT MYSELF?’ 


lated his watch by Henriette’s, for everything depended 
on punctuality, and rising he said : 

“ We have already conversed longer than was prudent. 
I sha’n’t speak to you again to-night. Till Thursday.” 
And in a faint voice she replied, “Till Thursday.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

“is that myself?” 

This one phrase sealed Henriette’s fate, and she knew it. 
She was fully aware of the terrible rashness of her plan. 
The voice of conscience seemed to whisper that she was 
staking her honor, life, and every earthly hope upon one 
card. She clearly foresaw what the world would say after 
her flight. She would be lost, and could only hope for 
rehabilitation when Daniel returned. Ah ! if she could 
only have been as sure of his heart now as formerly. But 
the countess’ cunning innuendoes, and Sir Tom’s impu- 
dent assertions, had fulfilled their mission and shaken 
her faith. Daniel had been absent for nearly a year now, 
and she had written to him regularly every month ; but in 
reply she had only received from him two letters through 
M. de Brevan — and what letters they were ! Very polite, 
very cold, and almost without a word of hope. What if 
Daniel abandoned her when he returned ? And yet the 
more she reflected the more she was impressed with the 
absolute necessity of flight. Yes, she must face unknown 
dangers to escape a peril which she realized full well. In 
doing so she had to rely upon a man who was almost a 
stranger to her, but then he was the only one who could 
help her to escape the persecution of a scoundrel who had 
become her father’s boon companion, friend, and counsel- 
or. She had to sacrifice her reputation — that is, the sem- 
blance of honor ; but she saved the reality — honor itself. 
Still, it was very hard, and she passed the whole of the 
next day — Wednesday — in a state of unspeakable anguish. 
On Thursday morning, however, she followed M. de Bre- 
van’ s directions, and complained of a violent headache. 
The doctor who was sent for found her very feverish, and 
ordered her to keep her bed. He little knew that he was 
thus restoring the poor girl to liberty. On being left 
alone she rose and tidied her drawers, carefully going 
through all her letters and papers, putting aside all those 
that she wished to take with her, and burning such as she 
did not wish the countess to find and read. As M. de Bre^ 


“IS THAT MYSELF ?” 


165 


van had recommended her not to take her jewels, she 
merely kept about her person such as she wore every day, 
and left the others openly displayed on a chiffonier. It 
was impossible for her to take much baggage, and yet 
some linen was indispensable. Upon reflection she de- 
cided to take a traveling-bag which her mother had given 
her — inside which, in addition to a few articles of cloth- 
ing, she slipped a dressing-case, with gold fittings of ex- 
quisite workmanship. Then having finished her prepa- 
rations she sat down and wrote her father a long letter, in 
which she fully explained the motives of her desperate 
resolution. After that she waited. Night had fallen long 
since, and the last preparations for a princely entertain- 
ment filled the mansion with noise and motion. She could 
hear the hasty steps of busy servants, the loud orders of 
her father’s valet and steward, and the hammering of up- 
holsterers giving -a final touch here and there. By and by 
carriage wheels were heard rolling into the court-yard, 
and the first guests arrived. Henriette had now but a 
short time to wait, and she counted the last minutes with 
mingled dread and impatience. At last her watch pointed 
to a quarter to ten, and then rising almost automatically 
she threw a long cashmere shawl over her shoulders, and 
taking her bag in her hand, left her room, and slipped 
along the passages to the servants’ staircase. Holding 
her breath she paused, peered down the stairs, listened 
anxiously, and then neither hearing nor perceiving any 
one, hastened down to the little hall below. She remained 
here in the darkness seated on her bag — her breath com- 
ing short and faint, and her hair moist with cold perspira- 
tion. At last she heard a clock strike ten, and the final 
vibration had not yet died away, when M. de Brevan’s 
carriage drew up at the door. 

Maxime’s coachman was certainly a skillful driver. 
Pretending to lose control over his horse, he made it turn, 
and forced it back with such admirable awkwardness that 
the vehicle finally stopped close beside the wall, the right 
hand door being just in front of the dark little vestibule 
where Henriette was standing. M. de Brevan at once 
jumped out. Henriette sprang forward unperceived, and 
a moment later the carriage slowly drove out of the court- 
yard, and drew up along the footway of the Rue de Varen- 
nes some little distance off. The scheme had succeeded. 
Mile, de Ville-Handry had left her father’s house, and set 
at defiance all the established laws of society. She was 
now entirely at the mercy of circumstances, and was 


166 


“IS THAT MYSELF?’ 


saved or lost according to the turn events might take. But 
her prostration was now too great to allow her to reflect, 
for her feverish excitement had passed away with the 
danger of being intercepted, and she was reclining scarcely 
conscious on the cushions of the carriage, when the door 
opened and M. de Brevan reappeared. 

“Well, mademoiselle,” cried he, in a strangely embar- 
rassed voice, “we have won the day. I have just present- 
ed my respects to the Countess Sarah and her worthy com- 
panions ; I have shaken hands with the Count de Ville- 
Handy, and no one has the shadow of a suspicion.” And 
as Henriette made no remark he added, “ Now we must 
make haste, for it is indispensable I should show myself 
at the ball again as soon as possible. Your lodgings are 
ready for you, mademoiselle, and with your leave we will 
drive there at once.” 

Raising herself lrom her recumbent position she replied, 
with a great effort : 

“ Let us do so, sir.’ 

M. de Brevan had already jumped into the carriage, 
which now started off at a rapid pace, and while they were 
driving along he explained to Henriette how she would 
have to behave in the house where he had engaged a lodg- 
ing for her. He had spoken of her, he said, as one of his 
relatives from the provinces, who, having suffered a re- 
verse of fortune, had come to Paris in the hope of finding 
some means of earning her living. 

“ Remember this romance, mademoiselle,” said he, “and 
act and speak in accordance with it. Be especially careful 
never to mention my name or your father’s. Remember 
that you are still under age, that you will be searched for 
anxiously, and that the slightest indiscretion may put 
your persecutors on your trail.” Then noticing the tears 
that were coursing down her cheeks, he sought to take 
her hand as if to comfort her, and in doing so remarked 
the bag she had decided to bring away. “ What’s that ?” 
he asked, in a tone which, despite its affected gentleness, 
revealed considerable apprehension. 

“Oh, it only contains some indispensable articles.” 

“Ah, then you did not take your jewels after all, mad- 
emoiselle.” 

“No, certainly not, sir,” answered Henriette. 

M. de Brevan’s persistency on this subject began to 
strike her as odd, and she would perhaps have expressed 
her surprise if the carriage had not at that moment sud- 
denly stopped before No. 23 Rue de la Grange. 


“IS THAT MYSELF ?” 


167 


“Here we are, mademoiselle,” said M. de Brevan. 

And jumping out he gave the bell a vigorous pull, which 
caused the door to open immediately. The concierge’s 
room was still lighted up, and M. de Brevan walked straight 
toward it, opening the door with an air of authority, as if 
he had been the master of the house. 

“It is I,” he said. 

The doorkeeper and his wife, who had been dozing over 
their newspapers, started up at once. 

“ Monsieur Maxime !” they said, with onewoice. 

“I bring you the young kinswoman I spoke to you of— 
Mile. Henriette,” rejoined M. de Brevan. 

If Mile, de Ville-Handry had had the slightest knowl- 
edge of Parisian customs she would have guessed, from 
the doorkeeper’s bows and his wife’s courtesies, that 
they had received a handsome gratuity in advance. 

“The young lady’s room is quite ready,” said the man. 

“ My husband arranged everything himself,” added the 
wife, “ and I made a fine fire there as early as five o’clock, 
so as to take out the dampness.” 

“Let us go up then,” said De Brevan. 

As the gas on the stairs had already been put out Mme. 
Chevassat lighted a candle, and walking ahead so as to 
show the way, climbed the stairs to the fifth floor, where, 
at the corner of a dark passage she opened a door, exclaim- 
ing : 

“ Here we are ! The young lady will see how nice it is.” 

It might possibly have been nice in her eyes, but Henri- 
ette, accustomed to the splendor of her father’s mansion, 
could not repress a gesture of disgust. She would not 
have allowed the least of her maids to occupy such a gar- 
ret at home. However, never mind. She went in bravely, 
placed her traveling-bag on the drawers, and took off her 
shawl, as if to assume possession of the apartment. How- 
ever, her first impression had not escaped M. de Brevan, 
and drawing her into the passage while the woman was 
stirring the fire, he remarked, in a low voice, “ It is a ter- 
rible room, but prudence induced me to choose it.” 

“.I like it as it is, sir.” 

“You will want a great many things, no doubt, but we 
will see to that to-morrow. To-night I must leave you ; 
you know how important it is that I should be seen again 
at your father’s house.” 

“You are quite right, sir; go, make haste.” 

Still, before leaving, he once more recommended his 
“ young kinswoman” to Mme. Chevassat, who assured him, 


168 


“IS THAT MYSELF?’ 


over and over again, that she was quite willing to place 
herself at the young lady’s disposal. The pair left the 
room together, and Henriette could hear them on the stairs 
— Maxime again repeating his recommendations, and the 
woman all complacency and honeyed words. Left to her- 
self, the last vestiges of Henriette’s excitement passed 
away, and she now felt intensely astonished at what she 
had dared to do. Standing by the mantel-piece, and gaz- 
ing into the little looking-glass at her own pale face, she 
murmured, “ Is that myself, my own self ?” Yes, it was, 
indeed, herself, the opulent Count de Ville-Handry’s only 
daughter, here, in a strange house, in a wretched garret- 
room, which she called her own — yesterday, surrounded 
by princely splendor, waited on by an army of retainers, 
and now in want of almost everything, and having for her 
only servant the old woman to whom M. de Brevan had 
recommended her. Was it possible? She could hardly 
believe it herself. Still she by no means repented of what 
she had done. She could have remained no longer in her 
father’s house, where she was exposed to the vilest insults 
from every one. Wishing to occupy her mind and shake 
off these dismal thoughts, she rose and began to explore 
her new home, and to examine all it contained. 

Accustomed to the profound stillness of her father’s 
mansion at night-time, Henriette had naturally no idea of 
the incessant racket that prevails on the upper floors of 
second and third-class Paris houses, which shelter as many 
inhabitants as a decent-sized village, and where the ten- 
ants, merely separated from each other by thin partition 
walls, live, so to say, in public. Under such circumstances, 
one only acquires the faculty of sleeping after long experi- 
ence, and the poor giid had to undergo her apprenticeship. 
It was past four o’clock before she could manage to sleep, 
and then her slumber was so heavy that she was not roused 
by the general stir throughout the house at daybreak. 
When she awoke a faint sun-ray was gliding into the room 
through the flimsy curtain, and the hands of the zinc clock 
pointed to noon. She rose at once and began to dress. 
When she awoke the day before she had only to ring her 
bell, and her maid promptly appeared, lit a fire, brought 
her her slippers, and helped her to don a warm, wadded 
dressing gown. How different matters were to-day. The 
thought carried her back to her father’s house. What 
were they doing there at this hour? Her escape was cer- 
tainly known by this time. No doubt, they had sent the 
servants out in all directions. Her father had most prob' 


“IS THAT MYSELF?” 


169 


ably gone to obtain the assistance of the police. She felt 
almost happy at the idea of being so safely concealed, and 
looking round her room, which appeared even more 
wretched in the day-time than by candle-light, she mur- 
mured : 

“No, they will never think of looking for me here.” 

In the meantime she* had discovered a small supply of 
wood near the fire-place, and as it was cold she was about 
to light a fire, when some one knocked at her door. She 
opened it, and found Mine. Chevassat, the doorkeeper’s 
wife, waiting on the threshold. 

“ It is I, my pretty young lady,” said the old woman as 
she entered. “ Not seeing you come down I said to myself, 

‘I must go and look after her.’ Now, have you slept well?” . 

“Very well, madam, thank you.” 

“Now, that’s right. And how is your appetite ? For 
that was what I came up about. Don’t you think you 
could eat a little something ?” 

“I would be obliged to you, madam,” replied Henriette, 

“ if you would bring me up some* breakfast.” 

“ If I would ! As often as you desire, my pretty young 
lady. Just give me time to boil an egg, and grill a cut- 
let, and I’ll be up again.” 

Ordinarily sour-tempered, and as bitter as wormwood, 
Mme. Chevassat seemed bent on displaying extraordinary 
amiability toward Henriette, hiding, moreover, under a 
vail of sympathy, the annoying eagerness of her eyes. 
Her hypocrisy was all wasted, however, for it was too 
manifest not to arouse suspicion. 

“ I am sure, ” thought Henriette, “ that she must be a bad • 
woman. ” 

And she was confirmed in this idea when the doorkeep- 
er’s wife returned. After setting out the breakfast on a 
little table before the fire Mme. Chevassat installed herself 
on a chair near the door, and continued talking, without 
once pausing, while Henriette partook of her improvised 
meal. According to the old woman, the poor girl ought 
to thank her guardian angel for having brought her to 
this charming house, No. 23 Rue de la Grange, where there 
was such a concierge with such a wife ! —he, the best of 
men ; and she, a real treasure of kindness, gentleness, and, 
above all, discretion. 

“ Quite an exceptional house, as far as the tenants are 
concerned,” added garrulous Mme. Chevassat. “They 
are all people of high standing or great respectability, from 
the wealthy old ladies on the first floor to Papa Ravinet on 


170 


“IS THAT MYSELF?” 


the fourth landing, and without even excepting the young 
ladies who live in the small rooms of the back building.” 

Then, having passed all the tenants in review, she began 
to sing the praises of M. de Brevan, whom she invariably 
called M. Maxime. She declared that he had won her 
heart the first time he called at the house, the day before 
yesterday, to engage Henriette’s room. She had never 
seen a more perfect gentleman ; so kind, polite, and lib- 
eral ! With her great experience she had at once realized 
that he was one of those men who inspire violent passions 
and secure lasting attachments. Besides, added she, with 
a hideous leer, she was sure of his deep interest in her 
pretty tenant ; and was, indeed, so well convinced of it 
that she would willingly devote herself to her service, even 
without any prospect of payment. However, this did not 
prevent her from informing Henriette as soon as she had 
finished breakfast : 

“You owe me two francs, mademoiselle; and, if you 
like, I can board you for five francs a day.” Thereupon 
she began to explain that this would be a mere act of kind- 
ness on her part, for, considering how dear everything 
was, she would certainly be a loser. She was rattling on 
in this strain when Henriette abruptly stopped her, and 
drawing a twenty-franc piece from her purse, exclaimed : 

“Pay yourself, madam.” 

This was evidently not what the woman expected, for 
drawing back with an air of offended dignity she replied : 

“What do you take me to be, mam’selle? Do you think 
me capable of asking for payment ?” And shrugging her 
shoulders she added, “ Besides, don’t your expenses con- 
cern M. Maxime ?” 

Thereupon she quickly folded the napkin, took up the 
plates, and disappeared. 

Henriette did not know what to think. No doubt this 
woman was pursuing some mysterious aim with all her 
foolish talk, but what could that aim be ? This was not 
the only cause for anxiety. The poor girl now realized 
that she was altogether at M. de Brevan’s mercy. The 
only money she possessed amounted to some two hundred 
francs, and she was in want of everything ; she had 
neither another dress, nor another petticoat. Why had 
M. de Brevan not thought of that beforehand ? Was he 
waiting for her to acquaint him with lier distress, and 
ask him for money? She could scarcely think so, and 
rather attributed his neglect to his excitement, fancying 
that he would soon call to inquire after her, and place 


“IS THAT MYSELF?’ 


m 


himself at her service. But the day slowly passed, night 
came, and still he did not appear. What could it mean? 
What unforeseen event could have happened? What 
misfortune could have befallen him? Distracted by a 
thousand apprehensions, Henriette was more than once on 
the point of going to his house. 

It was only at two o’clock on the following afternoon 
that M. de Brevan at last put in an appearance, fie was 
evidently embarrassed, despite the easy air he tried to 
affect. He had not come the previous day* he said, as he 
was sure the Countess Sarah had had him watched. Mile, 
de Ville-Handry’s flight from her father’s house was 
known all over Paris, and he was suspected of having 
aided and abetted her ; at least, so some acquaintances of 
his had told him at his club. He added that it would be 
imprudent in him to stay longer, and left without having 
said a word concerning future plans, and apparently with- 
out having noticed Henriette’s destitution. And thus, for 
three days, he only called to leave almost instantly. He 
always presented himself in an embarrassed manner, as 
if he had something very important to tell her, then sud- 
denly his brow would darken, and he would leave without 
saying anything of moment. At last Henriette could en- 
dure this atrocious uncertainty no longer. She determined 
to provoke an explanation, when, on the fourth day, M. de 
Brevan made his appearance, more agitated even than 
usual. On entering the room he locked the door behind 
him, and exclaimed, in a hoarse voice : 

“I must speak to you, mademoiselle, yes, I must.” 

He was extremely pale, his lips quivered, and his eyes 
shone like those of a man who has sought courage in 
strong drink. 

“I am ready to listen,” nervously replied the poor girl. 

He ‘hesitated again for a moment, and then, apparently 
overcoming his reluctance by a great effort, he resumed : 

“Well, I wish to ask you if you have ever suspected 
what my real reasons were for assisting you to escape ?” 

“ Why, I think you acted out of pity for me, and out of 
friendship for M. Daniel Champcey.” 

“No ! You are entirely mistaken.” 

On hearing these words Henriette instinctively drew 
back. “ Ah !” she muttered. 

Pale a moment before, M. de Brevan had now flushed 
crimson. 

“Have you really noticed nothing else,” he asked. “Are 
you really not aware that I love you ?” 


172 “I AM LOST r 

Could this infamy be true ? Surely M. de Brevan was 
either drunk or mad. 

“Leave me, sir,” exclaimed Henriette, peremptorily. 

But, far from turning to leave the room, he advanced 
toward her with open arms, and continued : 

“Yes, I love you madly, and have done so ever since I 
saw you for the first time. ” 

Henriette had in the meanwhile swiftly retreated, and 
opened the window. 

“If you advance another step I shall cry for help,” she 
said. 

He paused, and changing his tone, exclaimed : 

“Ah! You refuse? Well, what are you hoping for? 
For Daniel’s return? Doift you know that he loves 
Sarah ?” 

“ Ah ! You abuse my forlorn condition infamously !” 
retorted the poor girl. And as he still insisted she added, 
“Why don’t you go, coward? Why don’t you go? Must 
I call ?” 

Frightened by the idea of her screaming for help, the 
scoundrel backed to the door, unlocked it, set it ajar, and 
as he left exclaimed : 

“You refuse to listen to me to-day, but before the month 
is over you will beg me to come to your assistance. You 
are ruined, and I alone can rescue you.” 


CHAPTEB XVIII. 

“ I AM LOST !” 

At last, then, Henriette knew the truth. Overcome 
with horror, quivering with nervous spasms, she tried to 
realize the depth of the abyss into which she had thrown 
herself ; with child-like simplicity she had voluntarily 
walked into the pit that had been dug for her. Who, how- 
ever, would have thought of mistrusting Daniel’s friend, 
especially after Daniel’s own advice? Who could have 
suspected such monstrous rascality ? Ah ! Now she un- 
derstood all that hitherto seemed mysterious in M. de Bre- 
van’ s conduct. She understood why he had so urgently 
recommended her not to take her jewels, nor, indeed, any 
object of value with her, when escaping from her father’s 
house ; for if she had had her jewelry she would have 
been in possession of a small fortune ; she would have been 
independent, and above want for at least a couple of years. 
But M. de Brevan wished her to find herself destitute. He 


“I AM LOST! 1 


173 


knew, the scoundrel ! with what crushing contempt she 
would reject his first proposals ; but he flattered himself 
with the hope that isolation, tear, and want, would at last 
reduce her to submission. And this man had been Dan- 
iel’s friend ! And it was he to whose care Daniel had in- 
trusted her on leaving France ! What atrocious decep- 
tion ! 

Henriette thought she could divine the traitor’s final 
aim. By forcing her to marry him he, no doubt, thought 
he would secure a large portion of the Count de Ville -Han- 
dry’s immense fortune. The idea that Maxime was the 
Countess Sarah’s accomplice did not enter Henriette’s 
mind. On the contrary, she thought they were enemies, 
and divided by antagonistic interests. 

A few months ago, so fearful and so sudden a catastro- 
phe would have probably crushed Henriette. But she had 
endured so many blows during the past year that she had 
strength enough to support this new misfortune. More- 
over, she called to her assistance the remembrance of 
Daniel. She had doubted him for one moment, but her 
faith had returned intact and perfect. Her reason told 
her that if he had really loved Sarah Brandon her enemies 
would not have taken such pains to induce her to believe 
that such was the case. Hence he would certainly return 
to her, as devoted as when he left. But, great God ! how 
grieved and enraged he would be when he learned how 
wickedly and cowardly he had been betrayed by the man 
'whom he called his friend. Still, he would know how to 
restore Henriette to her proper position, and how to avenge 
her. 

“And I shall wait for him,” she said, with her teeth 
firmly set. “ I shall wait for him !” 

How ? This was a question she did not ask herself, for 
she was yet in that first stage of enthusiasm, when, full of 
heroic resolutions, we fail to perceive the obstacles that 
have to be overcome. However, she was soon made ac- 
quainted with the first difficulties in her way, thanks to 
Mme. Chevassat, when the latter brought her her dinner 
at six o’clock. 

“Well, well, my beautiful young lady,” she said, in her 
sweetest voice, “so you have quarreled with our dear M. 
Maxime ?” 

Henriette was so convinced of the futility of an explana- 
tion, and so fearful of new dangers that she simply replied : 

“Yes, madam.” 

“I was afraid of it,” replied the woman, “for I just now 


174 


“I AM LOST !” 


saw him come down stairs with a dreadfully long face. 
You see, he’s in love with you, that kind young man, and 
you may believe me when I tell you so, for I know what 
men are. However, we must hope that the trouble will 
soon blow over.” 

“ No !” exclaimed Henriette. 

Mine. Chevassat seemed confounded. 

“ How savage you are !” she resumed at last. “Well, it 
is your own lookout. Only, I should like to know what 
you mean to do ” 

“About what?” 

“ Why, about your board.” 

“ I shall find means, madam, you may be sure.” 

The old woman, however, knew from experience what 
that cruel word, “living,” sometimes means with poor, 
forsaken girls, and shaking her head seriously, she said : 

“ So much the better ; so much the better. Only I know 
you owe a good deal of money.” 

“ Owe ?” 

“ Why, yes. The furniture here has never been paid 
for.” 

“What? The furniture ” 

“ Of course, M, Maxime was going to pay for it ; he told 
me so. But if you fall out together in this way — well, you 
understand, don’t you ?” 

Henriette hardly did understand such fearful infamy ; 
still, she did not betray her indignation and surprise, but 
simply asked : 

“What did the furniture cost, do you know?” 

“ I don’t know, I’m sure, but I should think something 
like five or six hundred francs, for things are so dear now- 
adays.” 

The whole was probably not worth more than a hundred 
and fifty or two hundred francs. 

“Very well, I’ll pay,” said Henriette. “The man will 
give me forty-eight hours’ time, I presume ?” 

“Oh, certainly.” 

As the poor girl was now quite sure that this honeyed- 
mouthed Megsera was employed by M. de Brevan to watch 
her, she affected a perfectly calm air, and on finishing 
dinner even insisted on paying her some fifty francs 
which she owed for the last few days’ board and some 
small purchases. But when the old woman was gone she 
sank on to a chair, exclaiming : 

“ I am lost.” 

There was in fact no refuge for her, no help to be ex- 


“I AM LOST r 


175 


pected. Should she return to her father, and implore her 
step-mother’s pity ? Ah! death itself would be preferable 
to such humiliation. Should she seek assistance from 
some of the old family friends ? But which of them could 
she confide in? Since her mother’s death no one seemed 
to have remembered her, unless for the purpose of slan- 
dering her. “I can count upon nobody but myself,” she 
repeated; “myself, myself !” And rousing herself at the 
thought she added, “ Well, let it be so, I will save myself.” 

So, determined to ask no one for assistance, she set to 
work examining her resources. The only objects of any 
value she owned were the cashmere which she had wrap- 
ped round her when she fled, the dressing-case in her 
mother’s traveling-bag, a brooch, a watch, a pair of pretty 
ear-rings, and lastly two rings, which by some lucky acci- 
dent she had forgotten to take off, and one of which was 
somewhat valuable. All these things she thought must 
have cost at least eight or nine thousand francs, but how 
much would they sell for ? On this question her whole fu- 
ture depended. Moreover, how could she dispose of them ? 
She wished to settle the matter at once, and rid herself of 
this terrible uncertainty. She especially wished to pay 
for the furniture in her room. Whom could she ask to 
help her ? Not for the world would she have confided in 
Mme. Chevassat, for she instinctively realized that if she 
once acquainted that terrible woman with her destitution 
she would be bound hand and foot to her. While she was 
thus meditating she thought of the Mont de Piete.* She 
had heard its offices spoken of, but only knew that poor 
people could obtain money there by depositing a pledge. 

“That’s where I must go,” she said to herself. 

But how was she to find an office ? She scarcely knew, 
and yet she at once went down stairs and left the house, 
without even answering astonished Mme. Chevassat’s in- 
quisitive question as to where she was going in such a 
hurry. Turning at the first corner she went on at hap- 
hazard, paying no attention to the passers-by, but exclu- 
sively occupied in looking at the houses and the inscrip- 
tions over the shops. However, for more than an hour she 
wandered on without finding what she wanted, and to 
make matters worse, dusk was already setting in. 

“Still, I won’t go home till I have found an office,” she 
said to herself, wrathfully. And mustering up all her 


*This is the public pawnbroking establishment of Paris, with branch 
offices scattered through the city. 


176 


“I AM LOST !” 


courage she approached a sergeant-de-ville, and flushing 
crimson, asked him, “Will you be kind enough, sir, to 
direct me to one of the Mont de Piete offices ?” 

The man looked at her with compassionate inquisitive- 
ness, as if wondering what misfortune had befallen so dis- 
tinguished looking a young woman, and then answered, 
with a sigh : 

“You will find one, madam, at the corner of the first 
street on the right.” 

Hastily thanking him, Henriette hurried in the direction 
he named, entered the house he mentioned, w'ent up stairs 
to the first floor, opened a door, and found herself in a 
large room, where some twenty people were standing 
about, waiting. Trembling, as if she had committed a 
crime, she offered the most valuable of her two rings. 
Then she waited, without daring to look up, for it seemed 
to her as if all the bystanders’ eyes were fixed upon her. 

“A diamond ring !” cried the clerk. “Nine hundred 
francs. Whose is it ?” 

Crimson with shame, Henriette stepped toward the clerk 
and whispered : 

“It is my ring, sir.” 

The clerk looked at her, and then softly asked : 

“You have your papers?” 

“ Papers ? What for ?” 

“ The papers that establish your identity. A passport, 
a receipt for rent, or anything.” 

“I have no such papers, sir,” she stammered. 

“ Then we can make no advance.” 

So thus her last hope vanished. Holding out her hand 
she said : 

“Please give me back my ring.” 

“ No, no, my dear,” replied the clerk, with a laugh, “ that 
can’t be done. You shall have it back when you bring 
me your papers, or when you come accompanied by two 
tradespeople who are known to us.” - 

Henriette hastened out of the room and down the stairs. 
She had hardly sufficient strength to return to the Hue de 
la Grange, and there fatigue, fright, and excitement made 
her forget her earlier resolutions. She confessed her dis- 
comfiture to Mine. Chevassat. 

That estimable female tried to look as grave as an at- 
torney consulted on a very delicate subject, but when 
Henriette had finished her story she seemingly melted 
and exclaimed : 

“ Poor little kitten, poor little innocent kitten ! One can 


“1 AM LOST !” 


177 


easily see, my dear, that you are a mere child. Pawn your 
poor little jewels? Why, that’s absurd, for isn’t there 
some one at hand quite ready to do anything for you ? * At 
this sudden but not altogether unexpected attack Henri- 
ette trembled. “For I am sure,” continued Mme. Chevas- 
sat, “that if you only chose poor M. Maxime could give 
you everything he possesses.” 

Henriette gave the doorkeeper’s wife such a look that 
that usually imperturbable female seemed quite discon- 
certed. 

“ I forbid you,” cried the poor girl in a voice trembling 
with indignation, “ I forbid you positively ever to mention 
his name to me.” 

The woman shrugged her shoulders. 

“As you like it,” she answered. And then, to change 
the conversation, she added, “Well, let us return to your 
ring. What do you propose to do ?” 

“That is exactly why I came to you,” replied Henriette. 
“I don’t know what is to be done in such a case.” 

Mme. Chevassat smiled, evidently well pleased. 

“ And you did very well to come to us,” she said. “ Che- 
vassat will go to the office, taking the charcoal dealer and 
the grocer next door with him, and before going to bed 
you shall have your money, I promise you. Chevassat un- 
derstands how to make the clerks perform their duty, and 
no mistake.” 

That evening, indeed, the excellent man really conde- 
scended to go up stairs, and hand Henriette eight hundred 
and ninety-five francs. He did not bring the whole nine 
hundred, he said, for having put his two neighbors to some 
inconvenience he was bound, according to established 
usage, to invite them to take something. For himself he 
had, of course, kept nothing — oh, nothing at all ! He 
could take his oath upon that, for he greatly preferred to 
leave that little matter to the beautiful young lady’s lib- 
erality. 

“Here are ten francs,” curtly retorted Henriette, in or- 
der to put an end to his unpleasant chattering. 

Thus; with a few gold pieces previously remaining in 
her purse, the poor girl had a capital of about a thousand 
francs in band. How many days, how many months, this 
sum would have lasted, had it not been for that unfortu- 
nate furniture dealer. He did not fail to present himself 
the very next day, accompanied by Mme. Chevassat, and 
he boldly asked for five hundred and seventy-nine francs. 
Such a sum for the few second-hand pieces of furniture 


178 


ENTRAPPED. 


which garnished that wretched garret ! It was a clear 
swindle, and such an impudent one, that Henriette felt 
overwhelmed. However, she paid the money. When the 
man had left she sadly counted from one hand into the 
other the twenty-three pieces of gold remaining to her, 
and in the midst of her musings a thought occurred to her 
which might have led to salvation had she only acted on it. 
Why not stealthily leave the house, go to the Orleans rail- 
way station, take the first train for Anjou, and seek shel- 
ter at the home of Daniel’s aunt? Alas! she contented 
herself with writing to her, and did not start. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

ENTRAPPED. 

From that moment she felt the net, in which she had 
been insnared, tighten day by day more closely around her. 

One morning, just as she had finished tidying her room, 
she heard a knock outside. Thinking it was Mme. Che- 
vassat with her breakfast she opened the door without ask- 
ing who was there, and started back with amazement and 
terror on recognizing M. de Brevan. He w^as extremely 
pale ; his lips trembled, and his eyes were dim. He seemed, 
moreover, to have great difficulty in speaking. 

“I have come, mademoiselle,” he said at last, “to ask if 
you have reconsidered.” 

She made no reply, but gave him a look of supreme con- 
tempt, for which he was apparently prepared. 

“I know,” he continued, “that my conduct must appear 
abominable in your eyes. I have led you into this snare, 
and I have meanly betrayed a friend’s confidence, but I 
have an excuse. My passion is stronger either than my 
will or reason.” 

“ A vile passion for money !” 

“You may think so, mademoiselle, if you choose. I 
shall not even attempt to clear myself. That is not what 
I came for. I came solely for the purpose of enlightening 
you in regard to your own position, which you do not 
seem to realize.” 

If she had followed her first impulse Henriette would 
have ordered him away. But she thought she ought to 
know his intentions and plans, so overcoming her disgust 
she remained silent, as if waiting for him to continue. 

“ In the first place, ” .said M. de Brevan, apparently try- 
ing to collect his thoughts, “ bear this in mind, mademoi- 


ENTRAPPED. 


179 


selle. Your reputation is lost, and lost through me. All 
Paris is by this time convinced that I have run away with 
you, and that I keep you concealed in some charming re- 
treat, where we enjoy our mutual love ; in fact, that you 
are my mistress.” 

He seemed to expect an explosion of wrath. By no 
means ! Henriette remained quite motionless. 

“What would you have?” he resumed, sarcastically. 
“ My coachman has been gossiping, and two friends of 
mine, who reached your father’s house on foot just when 
I drove up, saw you jump into my brougham, and as if 
that were not enough, that absurd fellow Sir Tom must 
needs call me out. We have had a duel, and I have wound- 
ed him.” 

The manner in which Henriette shrugged her shoulders 
clearly showed that she did not believe M. de Brevan’s 
statements. 

“ If you doubt it, mademoiselle,” said he, “ pray read this 
paragraph at the top of the second column.” And with 
these words he handed her a newspaper. 

“In the Bois de Vincennes yesterday,” read Henriette, “a duel with 
swords was fought between M. M. de B and one of the most dis- 

tinguished members of our Anglo American colony. After five min- 
utes’- close combat, Sir T. E was -wounded in the arm. It is rumored 

that this duel was connected with the recent surprising disappearance 
of one of the greatest heiresses of the Faubourg Saint Germain. Lucky 

M. de B is reported to know too much of the beautiful young lady’s 

present home for the peace of the family. However, it would be indis- 
creet to say more at present on the subject of an adventure which will 
ere long, no doubt, end in a happy and brilliant marriage.” 

“You see, mademoiselle,” said M. de Bre van, when he 
thought Henriette had had time enough to read the para- 
graph, “ you see it is not I who advise marriage. If you 
will become my wife your honor is safe. ” 

“ Ah, sir !” 

That simple exclamation was uttered in so contemptuous 
a tone that M. de Brevan seemed to turn if possible whiter 
than before. 

“Ah ! I see you prefer marrying Sir Thomas Elgin,” he 
said, and as she shrugged her shoulders by way of reply 
he resumed, “ Oh, I am not joking. Hd or I ; you have no 
alternative. Sooner or later you will have to choose.” 

“I shall not choose, sir.” 

“Oh, just wait till poverty comes You think, perhaps, 
you will only need to implore your father to come to oyur 


180 


ENTRAPPED. 


assistance. Don’t flatter yourself with that idea. Your 
father has no other will than the Countess Sarah’s, and 
she is determined to make you marry Sir Tom. ” 

“I shall not appeal to my father, sir.” 

“ Then you probably count upon Daniel’s return? Ah, 
believe me, do not indulge in such dreams. I have already 
told you that Daniel loves the Countess Sarah, and even if 
he did not love her you have been too publicly disgraced 
for him ever to give you his name. But that is nothing 
yet. Go to the Ministry of Marine and inquire. The offi- 
cials will tell you that The Conquest is out on a cruise of 
two years more. By the time Daniel returns, if, indeed, 
he returns at all, which is far from certain, you will long 
since have become Lady Elgin or Mme. de Brevan, un- 
less ” 

Henriette looked at him so fixedly that he could not sus- 
tain her glance, but lowered his eyes. 

u Unless I die 1” said she, impressively. “ Did you not 
mean that ? Be it so. ” 

M. de Brevan bowed, as if such, indeed, were his mean- 
ing. Then opening the door he exclaimed : 

“Let me hope, mademoiselle, that this is not your last 
word. I shall, however, have the honor of calling every 
week to receive your orders.” 

And with another bow he left the room. 

“ What brought him here, the wretch ! What does he 
want of me ?” asked Henriette of herself as soon as she 
was alone. 

She did not believe a word of the pretexts M. de Brevan 
had assigned for his visiu. She could not admit that he 
had really come to see if she had reflected, nor that he 
really cherished the abominable hope that misery, hunger, 
and fear would drive her into his arms. It seemed to her 
that some all powerful consideration must have absolutely 
compelled M. de Brevan to visit her, for his manner had 
sufficiently shown that the visit was scarcely to- his liking. 
But then what could that consideration be ? His words, 
which she easily recalled, threw no light on the matter at 
all. She herself had already realized what he had told 
her concerning the consequences of her flight. The only 
new information he had imparted concerned his duel with 
Sir Tom, and on consideration this occurrence seemed to 
her natural enough. For did they not both covet with 
equal eagerness the fortune she would inherit from her 
mother as soon as she came of age ? To her mind their 
antagonistic interests explained their mutual hatred, for 


ENTRAPPED. 


181 


she was convinced that they hated one another mortally. 
The idea that Sir Tom and M. de Erevan understood each 
other, and pursued a common purpose, never entered her 
mind, and, indeed, if it had suggested itself she would 
have rejected it as absurd. Must she, then, come to the 
conclusion that the only purpose of M. de Brevan’s visit 
was to drive her to despair ? But why should he do so ? 
what advantage would he reap from that ? A lover does 
not seek to terrify and disgust the girl whose hand he 
seeks to win, and yet this is how M. de Brevan had acted, 
so that he must have some very different aim to matri- 
mony. What could it be ? Surely he was not acting in 
this abominable manner for the. mere pleasure of doing so. 
It was certain that when Daniel returned, whether he still 
loved Henrietta or not, M. de Brevan would at all events 
have a terrible account to settle with him. Did M. de 
Brevan ever think of Daniel’s return? No doubt he did, 
and with secret terror, too. There was proof of that in 
one phrase that escaped him. After saying, “When Dan- 
iel returns,” he had added, “if, indeed, he ever does so, 
which is by no means sure.” Why this proviso? Had he 
any reason to think that Daniel might perish in this dan- 
gerous campaign ? Now she remembered — yes, she remem- 
bered distinctly — that M. de Brevan had smiled in a very 
peculiar way while uttering these words. At this recol- 
lection her heart sank within her, and she felt as if she 
were about to faint. Was he not capable of anything, the 
villain — capable even of arming an assassin ? 

“ Oh, I must warn Daniel !” she exclaimed, “ I must warn 
him, and at once.” 

Accordingly, although she had written him a long letter 
only the day before, she sat down and wrote again, beg- 
ging him to be watchful, to mistrust everybody, for his 
life was certainly threatened. Prudently enough she post- 
ed this letter herself, feeling convinced that if she confided 
it to Mme. Chevassat the latter would hand it to M. de 
Brevan. 

It was astonishing, however, how the doorkeeper’s wife 
seemed to become every day more attached to Henriette, 
and how expansive and demonstrative her affection grew. 
At all hours of the day, and on the most trivial pretexts, 
she would come up, sit down, and chatter away at a sur- 
prising rate. She no longer restrained herself in the least, 
but talked “ from the bottom of her heart” with her “ dear 
little pussy-cat,” as if Henriette had been her own daugh- 
ter. Moreover, she now cynically developed certain strange 


182 


ENTRAPPED. 


doctrines which she had formerly only hinted at, and it 
seemed as if she had been purposely deputed by Henriette’s 
enemies for the special purpose of demoralizing and 
depraving her, and driving her if possible into that brill- 
iant easy life of sin which is the ruin of so many unhappy 
women. Fortunately, in this case, the messenger was ill- 
chosen. Mme. Chevassat’s eloquence might have inflamed 
the imagination of some low-born, ambitious girl, but it 
only disgusted Henriette. She had got into the habit of 
thinking of other things while the old woman was hold- 
ing forth, and her mind fled to regions Mme. Chevassat 
had never heard of. Still, her life was a very sad one. 
She never went out, but spent her time at home, reading, 
or working at some embroidery — a masterpiece of patience 
and taste — which she had undertaken in the faint hope 
that it might prove useful in a moment of distress. How* 
ever, a new source of trouble soon roused her from this 
monotonous existence. Her money rapidly diminished, 
and at last one day she had to change her last piece of gold. 
It was necessary to resort to the Monte de Piete again, 
for the month of April had just come round, and Mme. Che- 
vassat had given her to understand — in honeyed words, it is 
true — that she had better get ready to pay her quarter’s 
rent, amounting to a hundred francs. She therefore in- 
trusted the doorkeeper with her other ring, and calculat- 
ing by what had been lent her on the first one, she hoped 
on this occasion to obtain some five or six hundred francs. 
To her surprise, however, the man only brought her one 
hundred and ninety francs. At first she believed he had 
robbed her, and she gave him to understand that she 
thought so. 

Flying into a rage he threw the pawn ticket on the table, 
and exclaimed : 

“ Just look at that, and remember to whom you are talk- 
ing !” 

Taking up the paper she read plainly enough : 

“Advanced, two hundred francs.” 

Worthy M. Chevassat, be it noted, had charged ten 
francs for his time and trouble. Convinced that she had 
accused him unjustly, Henriette now hastened to apolo- 
gize, but it was only by means of a second ten-franc piece 
that she at last succeeded in soothing his wounded feel- 
ings. She was quite ignorant of the fact that a person is 
always at liberty to pawn an object for only a portion of 
its estimated value, and never thought of studying the 
printed memoranda on the paper. Grievously disap- 


183 


ENTRAPPED. 

pointed at not having obtained what she hoped for, Henri- 
ette reflected how she might obtain other resources, for 
after paying her rent only enough money for a fortnight’s 
subsistence would remain to her. This time she thought 
she would try and sell — not pawn — her dressing-case with 
the gold fittings, and she requested obliging Mme. Chevas- 
sat to find her a purchaser. A 

At first the old woman raised a host of objections. 

“It’s folly to sell such a pretty toy !” she said. “Just 
think, you’ll never see it again. If, on the other hand, 
you pawn it, you can take it out again as soon as you have 
a little money.” 

But she lost her pains, and at last consented to fetch a 
dealer in toilet articles — whom she declared to be an ex- 
cellent, worthy man, in whose honesty one might have all 
confidence. And he really showed himself worthy of her 
recommendation, for he instantly offered five hundred 
francs for the dressing-case, which was not worth much 
more than three times that amount. Nor was this his 
last bid. After an hour’s irritating discussion, and after 
pretending, at least a dozen times to leave the room, he at 
last sorrowfully produced his purse, and counted on the 
table the seven hundred francs in gold upon which Henri- 
ette had stoutly insisted. That was enough to pay Mme. 
Chevassat for four months’ board. But then what should 
she do afterward ? She must make this money last as 
long as possible, and accordingly that very evening she 
summoned all her courage and firmly told the old woman 
that in future she wished her to prepare her only one meal 
a day — that is, her dinner. She chose this half-measure 
so as to avoid a regular falling out, which she feared 
might lead to fatal results. Contrary to her expectations, 
the doorkeeper’s wife appeared neither surprised nor an- 
gry. She only shrugged her shoulders, and replied : 

“As you like, my little pussy-cat. Only believe me, it 
is no use economizing in one’s eating.” 

From the day of this coup d'etat Henriette went down 
every morning herself to buy a penny roll and the little 
supply of milk which constituted her breakafst. For the 
rest of the day she did not leave her room, but busied her- 
self with her embroidery, and the distressing monotony of 
her life w*as only interrupted by M. de Brevan’s periodical 
visits. For he did not forget his threat, and Henriette 
was sure to see him regularly every week. He invariably 
presented himself with a solemn air, and coldly asked if 
she had reflected since he had last had the honor of pre- 


184 


ENTRAPPED. 


senting hi? respects to her. As a rule she only answered 
him by a look of contempt, but he did not seem in the 
least disconcerted. He bowed respectfully, and invariably 
said before leaving the room : 

“Next time, then ; I can wait. Oh, 1 have time ; I. can 
wait.” 

If he hoped by this means to conquer Henriette more 
promptly he was entirely mistaken. His periodical in- 
sults only revived her wrath and increased her energy. 
Her pride rose at the thought of this incessant struggle, 
and she vowed that she would be victorious. It was this 
sentiment which inspired her with a thought, which, in 
its results, was destined to have a decisive influence on 
her future. It was now the end of June, and she noticed 
with alarm that her little treasure was growing smaller 
and smaller. One day, when Mme. Chevassat seemed to 
be unusually good humored, she ventured to ask her if 
she could not procure her some work, saying that she was 
considered quite skillful in all kinds of needlework. 

“ What nonsense,” replied the woman, with a loud laugh. 
“ Are hands like yours made to work ?” And when Henri- 
ette insisted, and showed her, as a specimen of what she 
could do, the embroidery she was engaged on, Mme. Che- 
vassat retorted, “ It is very pretty, no doubt, but embroid- 
ering from morning till night would not enable a fairy to 
keep a canary-bird.” 

There was probably some truth in what she said, exag- 
gerated as it sounded, and the poor girl hastened to add 
that she understood other kinds of work also. She was a 
first-class musician, for instance, and fully able to give 
music-lessons, or teach singing, if she could only obtain 
pupils. At these words a gleam of diabolical satisfaction 
lighted up the old woman’s eyes, and she exclaimed : 

“ Why, my ‘ pussy-cat, ’ could you play dance music, 
like those artists who go to fashionable people’s entertain- 
ments ?” 

“Certainly, I could.” 

“Well, that’s a talent worth something. Why did you 
not tell me before? I will think of it, and you shall see.” 

On the next Saturday, early in the morning, she came 
to Henriette’s room with the bright face of a bearer of 
good news. 

“ I have thought of you,” she said as she entered. “ We 
have a tenant in the house who is going to give a large 
party to-night. I have mentioned you to her, and she 
says she will give you thirty francs if you will make her 


ENTKAPPED. 


185 


guests dance. Thirty francs ! That’s a big sum, and be- 
sides, if the people are pleased you will get more custom- 
ers.” 

“In what part of the house does this lady live?” 

“ On the second floor of the back building, looking on to 
the yard. Her name’s Madame Hilaire ; she’s a very nice 
person, indeed, and so kind there’s no one like her. You 
would have to be there at nine o’clock precisely.” 

“Very well, I’ll go.” 

Elated with hope, Henriette spent a part of the afternoon 
in mending her only dress, a black silk, unfortunately 
much worn, and already often repaired. Still, by dint of 
skill and patience, she managed to look quite respectable 
when she rang at Mme. Hilaire’s door. She was shown 
into a room rather oddly furnished, but brilliantly lighted 
up, where seven or eight ladies in flaming costumes, and 
as many fashionably dressed gentlemen, were smoking 
and taking coffee. 

They had evidently just dined, and judging from their 
eyes find voices, the wine had circulated pretty freely at 
the repast. 

“ Ah ! here’s our musician,” exclaimed a tall, dark-haired 
woman, with a pretty face but vulgar air, who proved to 
be Mme. Hilaire. “ Will you take a drop of something, 
my dear ?” she asked, turning to Henriette. 

The poor girl blushed crimson, and seemed painfully em- 
barrassed. While she was apologizing for declining Mme. 
Hilaire roughly interrupted her, and exclaimed, “Not 
thirsty, eh? all right. Well, you can take something by 
and by. In the meantime will you play us a quadrille ? 
and mark the time, please.” Then imitating with distress- 
ing accuracy the barking voice habitually assumed by mas- 
ters of ceremonies at public halls she called out, “Take 
your positions, take your positions ; a quadrille !” 

Seated at the pinao Henriette turned her back to the 
dancers, but in a mirror placed above the instrument she 
could perceive every movement made by Mme. Hilaire 
and her guests. By this means she was speedily confirmed 
in what she had suspected from the beginning. She under- 
stood into what company Mother Chevassat had thrown 
her. However, she had sufficient self-control to finish the 
quadrille. But when the last figure had been danced she 
rose, and approaching Mme. Hilaire stammered in the 
most embarrassed manner : 

“ Please excuse me, madam, but I cannot stay. I reel 
very unwell. I could not play any more.” 


186 


ENTEAPPED. 


“How funny !” cried one of the gentlemen. “Why, here’s 
our ball at an end !” 

“ Hush, Julius !” exclaimed Mme. Hilaire. “Don’t you 
see how pale she is — as pale as death, poor child S W'hat 
is the matter with you, my dear ! Is it the heat that makes 
you feel badly ? It is stifling hot here.” And as Henriette 
walked toward the door she added, “ Oh, wait ! I don’t 
trouble people for nothing. Come, Julius, turn your pock- 
ets inside out, and give the little one a twenty-franc 
piece.” 

The poor girl was almost outside the room, but turning 
round she replied, “Thank you, madam ; but you owe me 
nothing.” It was high time for her to leave. Her first 
surprise had been followed by mad anger, which drove the 
blood to her head, and drew bitter tears from her eyes. 
To think that Mme. Chevassat had entrapped her in that 
manner ! What could have been the wretched woman’s 
object? Carried away by an irresistible impulse, and no 
longer mistress of herself, Henriette rushed down stairs, 
and swept like a whirlwind into the doorkeeper’s room. 

“ How could you dare to send me to such people ? You 
knew all about it, you wretch !” she cried. 

Master Chevassat was the first to rise. * 

“Eh, what’s the matter?” he asked; “do you know 
whom you are talking to ?” 

But his wife motioned him to be quiet, and turning to 
Henriette, cynically exclaimed : 

“Well, what next? Aren’t those people good enough 
for you, eh ? In the first place, I am tired of your ways, 
my ‘ pussy-cat. ’ Beggars like you ought to stop at home 
and behave properly, instead of running away with young 
men, and gadding about the world with lovers.” 

Thereupon she took advantage of the fact that Henriette 
had paused on the threshold to push her brutally out of 
the room, and fiercely bang the door. 

On reaching her own room the poor girl began to reproach 
herself for her fit of passion. 

“ Ah !” she murmured as she wept, “ those who are weak 
and unhappy have no right to complain. Who knows what 
this wicked woman will now do to avenge herself?” 

She ascertained that two days afterward. On coming 
down stairs as usual, a little before seven o'clock, in order 
to buy her roll and milk for breakfast, she met Mme. Hil- 
aire in the court-yard of the house. The tenant of the back 
building turned as red as a poppy, and rushing up to Hen- 


ENTEAPPED. 


187 


riette seized her by the arm, and shook her furiously, at 
the same time bawling out at the top of her voice : 

“Ah, so it’s you, you miserable little beggar. You’ve 
been slandering me, eh? You wicked little minx. A beg- 
gar I had sent for to enable her to earn thirty francs. And 
I must needs think she is ill, and pity her, and ask Julius 
to give her a twenty-franc piece.” 

Henriette felt that she ought not to blame this woman, 
who, after all, had shov/n her nothing but kindness. But 
she was thorougly frightened, and tried to get away, where- 
upon the excited female clutched her still more tightly, and 
screamed still louder, till at last several tenants came to 
their windows to see what was the matter. 

“You’ll have to pay for it,” yelled Mme. Plilaire, carried 
away by wrath. “ You’ll have to clear out of the house, I 
can tell you !” 

At last she was quite without money again. In July her 
rent had cost her a hundred francs, and she had been com- 
pelled to buy a simple alpaca dress, in place of her old 
black silk one, which was literally falling to pieces. At 
the beginning of August she reached the end of her re- 
sources. She had still a few things that she might sell — 
her cashmere, her watch, her ear-rings, and brooch. One 
evening, after long hesitation, she slipped out of the house 
to try and find a purchaser. She sought for one of those 
dark little shops she had read of in books, which the police 
always suspect and watch, and where most traffic is done 
in stolen goods. At last she found such a one as she de- 
sired, and a withered, spectacled old crone, who plainly 
took her to be a thief, and did not even ask her her name, 
gave her a hundred and forty francs. 

Henriette realized well enough that this paltry sum 
meant merely a brief respite, and hence overcoming all 
her reserve and reluctance she vowed she would make 
every effort in her power to obtain work. She kept her 
word, and went from shop to shop, from door to door, so 
to say. soliciting employment, much as one might have 
asked for alms, promising to discharge any duty in return 
merely for her board and lodging. But it was written that 
everything should turn against her. Her beauty, her dis- 
tinguished air, all the more conspicuous owing to her 
modest attire, and her very manner of speaking, were so 
many obstacles in her way. Who could think of engag- 
ing as a servant a girl who looked like a duchess ? Thus 
on all sides she encountered cold faces and ironical smiles. 
She was refused everywhere, though now and then some 


188 


ENTRAPPED. 


portly libertine answered her application by an impudent 
declaration of love. While out of doors she attentively 
scrutinized all the little bills and notices setting forth that 
workwomen were “ wanted” at such and such addresses, 
and she perse ver in gly trudged from one place to the other. 
But here again she met with insurmountable difficulties. 
This was Henriette’s last effort. She was literally worn 
out with ineffectual struggling, and virtually gave up the 
fight. Another eighteen months must elapse before she 
came of age Since leaving her father’s house she had not 
received a line from Daniel, although she had constantly 
written to him, and she had no means of ascertaining the 
date of his return. On one occasion, following M. de Ere- 
van’s advice, she had summoned courage enough to go to 
the Ministry of Marine, and inquire if they had any news 
about The Conquest, whereupon a clerk jocularly replied 
that the vessel might be afloat “ another year or two.” 
How could she hope to wait so long ? Why maintain the 
useless struggle ? She felt an acute pain in her chest, she 
had a distressing cough, and after walking a few yards 
her legs habitually tottered, and she was seized with a 
cold perspiration. She now spent most of her time in bed 
— shivering with a nervous chill, or else lost, as it were, 
in a kind of stupor. She realized that she was daily be- 
coming weaker, and often murmured, “Ah, if I could only 
die !” This was the last favor she asked of God. Hence- 
forth a miracle alone could save her, and she hardly 
wished to be saved. She sold, in turn, everything that 
she could carry out of the house without being stopped by 
the doorkeeper’s wife. First, she sacrificed her linen, 
then her coverlet and curtains. She even removed the 
wool from her mattress, and disposed of it in small par- 
cels. Thus, at times she obtained a franc, at oth rs half a 
franc, and at others again a penny to buy a roll. 

Christmas Day came, and she found herself hungry and 
shivering in her denuded room. She wore but a single 
petticoat under her thin alpaca dress ; she had nothing to 
cover herself with during the night. Two evenings before, 
in a moment of utter misery, she had written her father a 
long letter. He had never answered it. She had written 
again the night before, and still there was no reply. “I 
am hungry,” she had said, “and have no bread. If by noon 
to-morrow you have not come to my assistance an hour 
later I shall be dead.” Noon had come and gone — not a 
line, not a single word of message had she received. It 
was all over. Still frantically clinging to a last hope, she 


“OUR MEETING EFFECTS HIS RUIN.’ 


189 


allowed herself till four o’clock. She made all her prepa- 
rations ; she told Mine. Chevassat that she would be out 
during the evening, and after some difficulty procured on 
credit a small stock of charcoal. Then she wrote two let- 
ters — a last one to her father, and the other to M. de Bre- 
van. 

Having carefully closed her door, she next kindled two 
small fires, and after commending her soul to God, lay 
down on her bed. It was then five o’clock. The fumes of 
the charcoal spread slowly through the room, bedimming 
the light of the flaring candle. It seemed as if some heavy 
weight were pressing on her temples, and by degrees she 
began to suffocate. Suddenly she felt a painful sensation 
in the chest, then a kind of delirium set in. She had a 
strange ringing in her ears ; her pulse beat with extraor- 
dinary vehemence ; nausea nearly convulsed her, and 
from time to time she felt as if her head were bursting. 
At last the candle went out. Maddened by the sensation 
of imminent d,eath, she tried to rise, but could not. She 
attempted to cry out, but her voice merely rattled in her 
throat. Then her ideas became utterly confused. Breath- 
ing seemed suddenly to cease, and she suffered no longer. 


CHAPTER XX. 

“our meeting effects his ruin.” 

A few minutes longer and all would have been really 
over. The Count de Ville-Handry’s daughter was dying. 
In a moment she would be dead. But at that precise in- 
stant Papa Ravinet, the dealer in second-hand merchan- 
dise, living on the fourth floor, chanced to come out of his 
rooms. If he had left as usual by the front staircase he 
would have heard nothing, but providentially he turned to 
go down the back stairs, and at that moment heard the 
poor girl’s death-rattle. In our egotistical times many a 
man would not have troubled himself with the matter ; 
but Papa Ravinet at once hurried down to inform the 
doorkeeper. Many a man again would have been quieted 
by the composure the Chevassats displayed, and satisfied 
with their assurance that Henriette was not at home. The 
old dealer, however, insisted on investigating the matter, 
and in spite of the doorkeepers’ evident reluctance, he 
compelled them to go up stairs ; and, indeed, by his lan- 
guage and example, induced nearly all the tenants to in- 


190 


“OUR MEETING EFFECTS HIS RUIN.’ 


terest themselves in the case. Again, it was Papa Bavinet 
who provided everything that was required when the poor 
girl was found stretched half dead on her miserable bed. 

On recovering consciousness Henriette’s first sensation 
was a very strange one. In the first place, she was ut- 
terly amazed at finding herself in a warm bed — she who, 
for. so many days, had endured all the tortures of bitter 
cold. Then, looking round, she was dazzled by the light 
of the lamp standing on the chest of drawers, and the 
beautiful, bright fire burning in the fire-place. Next, she 
beheld with stupefaction all the unknown women who 
were leaning over her attentively watching her move- 
ments. Had her father at last come to her assistance ? 
No, that could not be, for he would have been there, and 
she looked for him in vain among all these strange people. 
Then understanding, from a remark made by one of the 
bystanders, that she had been rescued from death by 
chance alone, she was seized with a feeling of bitter grief. 

“To have suffered all that a dying person can suffer,” she 
thought, “and then not to die after all.” 

At this idea she almost hated these people who were 
busying themselves around her. No doubt they had brought 
her back to life, but would they enable her to subsist ? 

She now clearly distinguished what was going on in her 
room, and recognized the ladies from the first floor, to 
whom mendacious Mother Chevassat was explaining that 
“her poor little pussy-cat” had sadly deceived her affec- 
tionate heart in order to carry out her fatal purpose. 

“You see, I did not dream of such a thing,” protested 
the abominable old female in a whining tone. “ A poor 
little pussy-cat, who was always merry, and this morning 
yet sang like a bird. I thought she might be a little em- 
barrassed, but never suspected such misery. You see, 
ladies, she was as proud as a queen ; she would rather 
have died than ask for assistance, and yet she knew she 
had only to say a word to me. Why, in October, when I 
saw she would not be able to pay her rent, I readily be- 
came responsible for her.” So saying, the infamous old 
hypocrite bent over the poor girl, kissed her on her fore- 
head, and tenderly resumed, “Didn’t you love me, eh, dear 
little pussy-cat ; didn’t you? I know you loved poor old 
Mother Chevassat.” 

Henriette shrank with horror and disgust from contact 
with the abominable old female’s lying lips. However, 
the emotion this incident caused her did more to revive 
her than all the attention she received ; but naturally it 


“OUR MEETING EFFECTS HIS RUIN.’ 


191 


was only after the doctor, who had been sent for, came 
and bled her, that she recovered the free use of her facul- 
ties. Then, in a faint voice she thanked the people round 
her for all their kindness, assuring them that she felt much 
better now, and might safely be left alone. The ladies 
from the first floor, whom curiosity had brought up stairs 
just as they were about to dine, thereupon slipped away, 
but Mme. Chevassat pertinaciously remained by the bed- 
side, as if anxious to find herself alone with her victim. 
Scarcely had the others left than her expression, look, and 
tone of voice completely changed. 

“ Well,” she commenced, “I suppose you are happy now. 
You have advertised my house, and it will all be in the 
papers. Everybody will pity you, and think your lover a 
cold-blooded villain, who has let you die of starvation.” 
The poor girl deprecated the charge with such a sweet, 
gentle expression of face that a savage would have felt 
compassion, but then Mother Chevassat was what is called 
a civilized being. “You know well enough, I should 
think,” she resumed, in a bitter tone, “that dear M. Max- 
ime did all he ’ could to save you. Only the day before 
yesterday he offered you his whole fortune ” 

“Madam,” stammered Henriette, “have you no mercy?” 

Mercy ? Mme. Chevassat ! What a joke ! 

“You would accept nothing from M. Maxime,” contin- 
ued the old woman. “ Just tell me why, pray ? You want- 
ed to play the virtuous woman, eh? Well, if that was so 
why have you accepted that ugly old miser’s offer? He’ll 
make life hard enough to you. Ah, you have fallen into 
nice hands.” 

With a great effort Henriette raised herself on her pil- 
lows, and asked : 

“ What do you mean?” 

“ Oh, you know well enough. I’m not so surprised, for 
he has been looking after you for a long time already.” 

Papa Ravinet, it should be mentioned, had discreetly 
withdrawn as soon as Henriette opened her eyes, so as to 
leave the women standing about at liberty to undress her. 
She had, therefore, not seen the man who had saved her, 
and did not at all understand Mme. Chevassat’s allusions. 

“Explain yourself, madam; explain,” she said. 

“Ah, upon my word ! it’s not difficult. Don’t you know 
that the man who heard you groaning, and brought us up 
here, is the old dealer on the fourth floor? Why, it’s he 
who’s presented you with all those bed things, and all 
that firing. And he won’t stop there, I’m sure. Just have 


192 


“OUR MEETING EFFECTS HIS RUIN.' 


a little patience, and you will soon know well enough 
what I mean.” 

It must be borne in mind that Mother Chevassat had al- 
ways pictured Papa Ravinet to Henriette as an arrant 
scoundrel — no doubt to prevent her from offering him any- 
thing she might have to sell. 

“ What have I to be afraid of ?” asked Henriette. 

The woman hesitated for a moment, but at last replied : 

“ If I told you why you would simply repeat it to him as 
soon as he comes back.” 

“No, I promise you.” 

“Swear it, on your mother’s sacred memory.” 

“I swear.” 

Apparently reassured by this solemn oath, the old wo- 
man drew closer to Henriette, and began, in a low voice : 

“Well, I mean this: if you accept what Papa Ravinet 
offers you now, in six months you will be worse than any 
of Mme. Hilaire’s girls. The old rascal has ruined more 
than one who were just as good as you are. That’s his 
business, and upon my word he understands it. Now, 
forewarned is forearmed. I am going down to prepare 
you some soup, and shall be back by and by. And above 
all, you hear, not a word.” 

Once more had Mother Chevassat hurled Henriette into 
an abyss of despair. 

“ Great God !” said the poor girl, “ can it really be that 
this old man’s generous assistance is a new snare?” 

With her elbow resting on her pillow, her forehead sup- 
ported by her hand, her eyes streaming with tears, she en- 
deavored to collect her scattered ideas, and her meditations 
might have lasted some time i f she had not suddenly heard 
some one coughing at the door. She instinctively trem- 
bled, and raised her head. On the threshold of the room 
stood the old dealer looking at her. 

After a long conversation with the doorkeeper, and 
some words with his amiable wife, Papa Ravinet had come 
up stairs to inquire after his patient. Henriette guessed 
who he was, rather than recognized him, for although liv- 
ing in the same house she had seldom met him before, and 
then only while quickly crossing the court-yard. 

“So this,” she thought, “is the man who wishes to ruin 
me — the wretch whom I must avoid.” 

It is true that the dealer, with his mournful face, his 
thick, brush-like eyebrows, and his small yellow eyes per- 
petually darting suspicious glances right and left, was an 
enigmatical looking personage, scarcely calculated to in- 


OUR MEETING EFFECTS HIS RUIN. 


193 


spire confidence at first sight. However, despite the em- 
barrassment Mother Chevassat’s statement caused her Hen- 
riette none the less thanked him very heartily for his help, 
care, and generosity in providing her with everything she 
wanted. 

“Oh! you owe me no thanks,” he said. “I have only 
done my duty, and very imperfectly, too.” 

Then somewhat grimly he began to tell her that what he 
had done was nothing in comparison with what he meant 
to do. 

How persuasively he talked, in hopes of winning Henri- 
ette’s confidence, and how she hesitated under tho influ- 
ence of Mother Chevassat’s last words ; how at last by re- 
turning her her letters apparently intact he succeeded in 
overcoming her antipathy, and obtained from her a prom- 
ise to let him help her in her trouble — all this has been 
related in our first chapter. When the old dealer at last 
retired, and Henriette was left alone, she asked herself 
how far she ought to confide in him at the interview fixed 
for the morrow. Had he not already guessed, by the di- 
rection of one of her letters, that she was the Count de 
Ville-Handry’s daughter ? And if she was to have kept 
anything from him was it not precisely that very fact ? 
Hence, she had best tell him everything. The more the 
poor girl thought over this strange adventure the more she 
became convinced of Mother Chevassat’s deception and 
Papa Ravinet’s sincerity. He might help her, and then 
perhaps she would be able to wait for Daniel’s return and 
her own rehabilitation. Even if the old dealer deceived 
her, she would be no worse off than before, no nearer 
death than she had been a few hours previously. So, why 
not make the trial — tell him the whole truth, and ask him 
to advise her. 

This is what Henriette had made up her mind to do, 
when, at nine o’clock the next morning, Papa Ravinet 
ushered himself into her room. He was very pale, and his 
expression of face and tone of voice betrayed a feeling of 
mingled anxiety and emotion. 

“Well ?” asked he, so absorbed in the one thought that 
he forgot even to inquire how the poor girl had passed the 
night. 

“I have made up my mind, sir; sit down, please, and 
listen to me,” replied Henriette, pointing to a chair. 

On leaving her the previous night the old dealer had felt 
convinced that she would ultimately confide in him, but he 
had scarcely expected that she would do so so soon. 


194 


'OUR MEETING EFFECTS HIS RUIN.” 


“At last !” he exclaimed, with beaming eyes and a 
strange, almost unnatural, gesture of delight. 

“ I am quite aware,” resumed Henriette, in an impressive 
voice, “ that I am about to act most rashly. It is scarcely 
prudent to place one’s self in the power of a stranger — espe- 
cially when one has been warned not to trust him.” 

“Oh, mademoiselle,” interrupted Papa Ravinet, “believe 
me ” 

“I think,” she rejoined, speaking with even additional 
solemnity, “that you would be the meanest and worst of 
men if you deceived me. As it is, I rely upon your honor.” 
And then, in a firm voice, she began to relate the story of 
her life, ever since that fatal evening when her father had 
acquainted her with his intention to give her a second 
mother. 

The old dealer had sat down just in front of Henriette, 
and he fixed his eyes upon her as if anxious to enter into 
her thoughts, and anticipate her meaning. His face was 
all aglow with excitement, like the face of a gambler 
watching the little white ball of the roulette table, which 
is about to enrich or ruin him. At times it seemed almost 
as if he had foreseen Henriette ’s terrible story, and experi- 
enced a bitter satisfaction at finding his presentiments 
confirmed. Every now and then, at certain phases in the 
poor girl’s narrative, he would interrupt her and ejacu- 
late, “Yes, yes, of course that had to come next.” And, 
moreover, he was apparently even better acquainted than 
Henriette with Sarah Brandon and her band — as if, indeed, 
he had lived with them on terms of intimacy ; and when- 
ever the occasion offered he passed judgment on their con- 
duct with amazing alacrity and assurance. “ Ah ! There 
I re90gnize Sarah and Mrs. Brian,” he said at one moment. 
“Yes, Sir Tom never does otherwise,” he remarked, a little 
later on. “ That’s Maxime de Brevan all over,” he ejacu- 
lated on a third occasion. And, as the story progressed, 
he burst at times into bitter laughter or threatening im- 
precations. “What a trick !” he exclaimed at one point. 
“What an infernal snare!” By and by he turned deadly 
pale, and trembled on his chair, as if he felt ill, and were 
about to fall. Henriette was at that moment giving him 
Daniel’s version, as obtained from M. de Brevan, of M. de 
Kergrist’s death and Malgat’s disappearance— describing 
how it was that the unfortunate cashier had left such an 
immense deficit behind him ; how he had been condemned 
to penal servitude ; and how a body, believed to be his, 
had been found in a wood near Paris. However, the old 


‘OUR MEETING EFFECTS HIS RUIN. 1 


195 


dealer promptly regained his self-possession, and as soon 
as the poor girl had finished her narrative he sprang to his 
feet, and exclaimed, in a threatening voice : 

“I have them now, the wretches! — this time I have 
them !” 

Then, overcome with excessive excitement, he sank on 
to his chair again, covering his face with his hands. 

Henriette was thunderstruck, and looked aghast at the 
old man, in whom she now placed her hopes. On the pre- 
vious night she had already had some suspicions that he 
was not what he seemed to be, and now she was sure he 
was not. But then, who could he be ? How could she hope 
to solve such a problem. All she divined was that Sarah 
Brandon, Mrs. Brian, and Sir Thomas Elgin, as well as M. 
de Brevan, had, at some time or other, come into contact 
with Papa Bavinet, and that he hated them mortally. 
That, indeed, seemed certain, unless, indeed, the old dealer 
was seeking to deceive her — for Henriette, who had not 
yet quite dismissed her doubts, could not prevent this after- 
thought from flashing through her mind. However, Papa 
Bavinet had in the meantime mastered his emotion. 

u Let no one henceforth deny the existence of Provi- 
dence !” he exclaimed. “Pools alone can do so. M. de 
Brevan had every reason to think that this house would 
entomb his crime as safely as the grave itself, and so he 
brought you here. And it happens I must chance to live 
here as well — I ! of all men— and he is unaware of it. By 
a kind of miracle we are brought together under the same 
roof — you, the Count de Ville-Handry’s daughter, and my- 
self — and at the very moment when De Brevan is about to 
triumph. Providence brings us together, and our meeting 
effects his ruin.” 

The old dealer’s voice evinced the fierce joy he felt at 
the thought of approaching vengeance, his sallow cheeks 
flushed with excitement, and his eyes shone more brill- 
iantly than ever. 

“ For M. de Brevan was triumphing last night, ” he con- 
tinued. “That woman Chevassat, his confederate, had 
watched you, and observing your preparations for suicide, 
had bidden him rejoice, for at last he was about to get rid 
of you.” 

“ Is it possible ?” stammered Henriette, with a shudder. 

Looking at her half surprised, the old man rejoined : 

“ What ! after all you have seen of M. de Brevan, didn’t 
you ever suspect him of planning your death ?” 

“Why, yes ! I sometimes thought so.” 


196 


“OUR MEETING EFFECTS HIS RUIN.’ 


“You were right in doing so, mademoiselle. Ah, you 
don’t know your enemies yet. But I know them, for I 
have had a chance of measuring the depth of their wick- 
edness. And for your safety you ought to follow my ad- 
vice. ” 

“I will, sir.” 

Papa Ravinet was evidently a little embarrassed, but at 
last he said : 

“You see/ mademoiselle, I shall have to ask you to trust 
me blindly.” 

“I will do so.” 

“Well, it is of the utmost importance that you should 
escape beyond reach of M. de Brevan ; he must lose every 
trace of you, and consequently you must leave this house.” 
“I will leave it.” 

“ And in the way I say ?” 

“I will obey you in every point.” 

The last shadow of anxiety, hitherto overclouding the 
old dealer’s brow, vanished as if by magic. 

“Then all will go well,” he said, rubbing his hands ; “I 
guarantee the rest. Let us make our arrangements at 
once. I have been here a long time, and that woman Che- 
vassat must be dying of curiosity. However, we must not 
let her suspect that we are acting in concert.” 

As if afraid that some inquisitive person might be listen- 
ing outside. Papa Ravinet thereupon drew his chair close 
to Henriette’s bed, and whispered : 

“As soon as I have turned my back that woman will 
come up, burning with curiosity to know what has trans- 
pired between us. You must pretend to be disgusted with 
me. Let her understand that you think me a wicked old 
man, who wants you to pay the price of infamy for his 
services.” 

Henriette flushed crimson. 

“ But, monsieur- ” stammered she. 

“ Perhaps you dislike telling a falsehood ?” 

“You see — I can’t, 1 fear. It Wouldn’t be easy to lie 
well enough to deceive Mine. Chevassat.” 

“Ah, mademoiselle, you must do so ! it can’t be helped. 
By remembering the necessity you may succeed in mislead- 
ing her. Remember that we must fight the enemy with 
her own weapons.” 

“Well, I will try, sir.” 

“So be it. The rest is a small matter. At nightfall you 
must dress yourself, and watch for the moment when the 
doorkeeper sets about lighting the gas. As soon as you 


RUINED. 


197 


see him on the front staircase make haste and run down 
by the back stairs. I will take measures to have the wo- 
man Chevassat either engaged or out of the house ; and so 
you will find it easy enough to slip out without being per- 
ceived. Directly you are in the street turn to the right. 
At the first corner, in front of the great Auction Mart, you 
will see a cab, with a colored handkerchief like this pro- 
truding out of the window. Jump into it at once. I shall 
be inside. There, that is all you have to do. Have I made 
it all clear to you ?” 

“Oh, perfectly, sir.” 

“ Then we understand each other. Do you feel strong 
enough ?” 

“ Yes, sir. You may rely on me.” 

Everything passed off just as the old dealer had planned, 
and Henriette played her part so well that at night, when 
her disappearance was discovered, Mother Chevassat was 
neither surprised nor disturbed. 

“ She was tired of life, the girl !” she said to her husband. 
“ I saw it by her manner when I was up stairs. We’ll, no 
doubt, see her again at the morgue. As the charcoal failed 
to do the work she has tried water instead.” 


CHAPTER XXI. 

RUINED. 

Dear woman ! She would not have gone to bed so qui- 
etly, nor have fallen asleep so comfortably, if she had sus- 
pected the truth. She owed most of her peace of mind to 
the certainty that Henriette had left the house bare-headed, 
with wretched, worn-out shoes on her feet, and nothing 
but one petticoat and a thin alpaca dress on her body. 
Now she was quite sure that as the poor girl was in such 
a state of destitution, she would soon weary of wandering 
through the streets of Paris on this cold December night, 
and would be irresistibly drawn toward the Seine. Unfor- 
tunately for the estimable female’s calculations, something 
very different happened. 

“And now, sir,” began Henriette, at once turning to the 
old dealer, as she sprang into the waiting cab, “ where are 
you taking me ?” 

The gas in the shops from time to time lighted up the 
interior of the vehicle, and enabled her to see her compan- 
ion’s features. He was looking at her with manifest sat- 


198 


RUINED. 


isfaction, and a smile of friendly malice played upon his 
lips. 

“Ah !” he replied, “that is a great secret. But you will 
know soon, for the man drives well. ” 

The poor horse went, indeed, as fast as if the five-franc 
piece which the driver had received had infused the noble 
blood of the swiftest racer into its veins. They drove 
down the street at a furious rate, turned at first to the 
right, and subsequently in several directions, and at last 
pulled up before a house of modest appearance. Papa 
Ravinet promptly jumped out, and having assisted Henri- 
ette in alighting drew her into the house, with the words : 

“You will see what a surprise I have in store for you.” 
On reaching the landing of the third floor the old man 
paused, took a key out of his pocket, and opened the door 
facing the staircase. Then, before she had time to con- 
sider, Henriette found herself gently pushed into a small 
sitting-room, where an elderly lady was embroidering at 
a frame by the light of a large copper lamp. 

“Dear sister,” said Papa Ravinet, still pausing on the 
threshold, “ here is the young lady I spoke to you about, 
and who does us the honor to accept our hospitality. ” 

The elderly lady slowly pricked her needle into the can- 
vas, pushed back the frame, and rose. She seemed some 
fifty years of age, and must originally have been beauti- 
ful. But age and sorrow had whitened her hair and fur- 
rowed her face, and habits of silence and meditation had 
given her lips a peculiar curve. She was dressed in black, 
and in a provincial style. 

“You are welcome, mademoiselle,” she said, in a grave 
voice. “ You will find in our modest home the peace and 
sympathy you need.” 

In the meantime Papa Ravinet had come forward ; bow- 
ing to Henriette, he said : 

“ I beg to present to you Mine. Bertolle, or rather my 
dear sister Marie, a widow, and a saint, who has devoted 
herself to her brother, and has sacrificed everything to him 
— her fortune, her peace, and very life.” 

Ah ! there was no mistaking the look which the old man 
gave his sister ; he plainly worshiped her. But as if em- 
barrassed by his praise, she interrupted him, saying : 

“ You told me so late, Antoine, that I have not been able 
to attend to all your orders. However, the young lady’s 
room is ready, and if you like ” 

“Yes, we must show her the way.” 

Taking up the lamp the old lady opened a door leading 


RUINED. 


199 


from the parlor into a small, comfortably furnished room, 
where everything was exquisitely tidy, and which exhaled 
that fresh odor of lavender so dear to all housekeepers 
from the country. The bright fire on the hearth cast lus- 
ter on the polished furniture, and the curtains were as 
white as snow. At one glance the old dealer had taken in 
everything, and after a smile of gratitude addressed to his 
sister he said to Henriette : 

“This is your room, mademoiselle.” 

The poor girl was so touched that she sought in vain for 
words to express her gratitude. However, Mme. Bertolle 
did not give her' time to speak, but showed her, spread 
out on the bed, various articles in white linen, a couple of 
petticoats, several pairs of stockings, and a warm gray 
flannel dressing-wrapper, while at the foot were a pair of 
slippers. 

“This will answer for a change to-night, mademoiselle,” 
she said ; “ I have provided what was most pressing ; to- 
morrow we will see about the rest.” 

Big tears — tears of happiness and gratitude — now rolled 
down Henriette’s pale cheeks. Yes, indeed ! this was a 
surprise, and a delicious one, which her new protector 
with his ingenious foresight had prepared for her. 

“Ah, you are so kind !” she said, giving her hands to 
brother and sister, “ you are so kind ! How can I ever re- 
pay what you are doing for me?” Then overcoming her 
emotion, and turning to Papa Ravinet, she added, “But 
pray, who are you, sir — you who succor a poor girl who is 
an utter stranger to you, increasing the value of your as- 
sistance by your great delicacy ?” 

It was Mme. Bertolle who replied. 

“ My brother, mademoiselle,” said she, “is an unfortu- 
nate man, who has paid for a moments’ forgetfulness of 
duty with his happiness, prospects, and very life. Do not 
question him. Let him be for you what he is for all of us 
— Antoine Ravinet, dealer in curiosities.” 

Mme. Bertolle ’s voice betrayed such great sorrow, silent- 
ly endured, that Henriette felt ashamed, regretting her in- 
discretion. But the old man intervened. 

“What I may say to* you, mademoiselle,” he exclaimed, 
“ is that you owe me no gratitude — no, none whatever. I 
am doing what my own interest commands me to do, and 
I deserve no credit for it. Why do you speak of grati- 
tude? It is I who shall forever be under obligations to 
you for the immense service you render me.” 

He seemed to be inspired by his own words ; his figure 


200 


RUINED. 


straightened, his eyes flashed fire, and he was on the 
point of letting, perhaps, some secret escape him, when 
his sister intervened, saying, reproachfully : 

“Antoine ! Antoine 1” 

“You are right ; you are right ! my dear,” he replied, “ I 
am forgetting myself here, and I ought already to be back 
in the Rue de la Grange. It is of the utmost importance 
that that woman Chevassat should not miss me a moment 
to-night.” 

He was already turning to leave them when the old lady 
caught him by the arm, and said : 

M You ought to go back, I know ; only be careful. It is 
a miracle that M. de Brevan has never met and recognized 
you during the year he has been coming to the house you 
live in. If such a misfortune should happen now our ene- 
mies might once more escape us. After the young lady’s 
desperate act he would not fail to recognize the man who 
saved her. What can you do to avoid meeting him ?” 

“I have thought of that danger,” replied Papa Ravinet. 
“ And when I get back I shall tell the two Chevassats a 
little story to frighten them, so that they will advise De 
Brevan never to appear there, except at night-time, as he 
formerly did.” Thereupon he bowed to Henriette, and 
left with these words, “ To-morrow we will consult to- 
gether. ” 

A shipwrecked mariner, saved from death at the last 
moment, could not experience a sense of greater happiness 
than Henriette did when retiring to rest that night, and 
for the first time in two years she fell asleep with a sense 
of perfect security ; she slept peacefully, without start- 
ing at the slightest noise, without wondering whether her 
enemies were watching her, without suspecting the very 
walls of her room. 

When she awoke the next morning, calm and refreshed, 
it was broad daylight, nearly ten o’clock, and a pale sun- 
ray was darting over the polished furniture. As she opened 
her eyes she espied the dealer’s sister standing at the foot 
of her bed, like a good genius who had been watching over 
her slumbers. 

“Oh, how lazy I am !” she exclaimed, with a child’s 
hearty laugh, for she felt quite at home in this little bed- 
room, where she had only spent a night; indeed, she felt 
as much at home here as she had been in her father’s man- 
sion, when her mother was still alive ; and it seemed to 
her as if she had lived here many a year. 

“My brother called about half an hour ago,” said Mad- 


RUINED. 


201 


ame Bertolle, “ and wished to talk with you, but we did 
not like to wake you. You needed repose so much ! He 
will be back in the evening, and dine with us.” 

The bright smile which had lighted up Henriette’s face 
faded away at once. Absorbed in the happiness of the 
moment she had forgotten all her troubles, and these few 
words recalled her to the reality of her position, to the 
sufferings of the past and the uncertainty of the future. 
The good widow assisted her in rising, and they spent the 
day together in the little parlor, cutting out and makmg- 
up a black silk dress for which Papa Ravinet had brought 
the material in the morning, and which was to take the 
place of Henriette’s miserable, worn-out alpaca. 

“Why should you go to such an expense ?” she sadly 
said. “Would not a woolen dress have done quite as 
well ? The hospitality which you offer me must in itself 
be a heavy charge. I should never forgive myself for be- 
coming a source of still greater privations to such kind 
friends.” 

But Mme. Bertolle shook her head, and replied : 

“Don’t be afraid, child. We have money enough.” 

They had just lighted the lamp at dusk, when they heard 
a key in the outer door of the apartment, and a moment 
later Papa Ravinet made his appearance. He was very 
red, and although it was freezing out of doors he was 
streaming with perspiration. 

“I am exhausted,” said he, sinking into an arm-chair, 
and wiping his forehead with his colored check handker- 
chief. “You can imagine how I have been running about 
to-day. I wanted to take an omnibus to come home, but 
they were all full.” 

Henriette sprang to her feet, and exclaimed : 

“You have been to see my father?” 

“ No, mademoiselle. The Count de Ville-Handry left his 
mansion a week ago. ” 

A mad thought — the hope that her father might have 
separated from his wife — crossed Henriette’s mind. 

“And the countess.” she.asked — “the Countess Sarah?” 

“ She has gone with her husband. They are living in the 
Rue Lepelletier, in a modest apartment over the office of 
the Pennsylvania Petroleum Company. Sir Tom and Mrs. 
Brian are there as well. They have kept only two serv- 
ants— Ernest, the count’s valet, and a woman called Clar- 
isse.” 

Henriette failed to notice the name of the creature whose 


202 


RUINED. 


treachery had been one of the principal causes of her mis- 
fortunes. 

“How could my father have ever been induced to leave 
his house ?” she asked. 

“He sold it, mademoiselle, ten days ago.” 

“ Great God ! My father must be ruined !” 

The old man bowed his head. 

“ Yes !” said he. 

So thus the sad presentiments Henriette had felt when 
first she heard of the Pennsylvania Petroleum Company 
were realized. But never, never would she have imagined 
so speedy a downfall. 

“My father ruined !” she repeated, as if she were unable 
to realize the news. “ And only a year ago he had an in- 
come of nearly four hundred thousand francs. Nine mill- 
ion francs swallowed up in twelve months ! nine millions !” 
And as the enormity of the amount seemed out of all pro- 
portion with the shortness of the time, she turned at last 
to the old dealer, and said, “It cannot be. You must be 
mistaken, sir ; some one has misled you.” 

Papa Ravinet smiled with bitter irony, and replied, as 
if much puzzled by Henriette’s doubts : 

“What, mademoiselle, can’t you understand it yet? 
Unfortunately, wnat I tell you is only too true, and if you 
want proofs- — ” So saying he drew a newspaper from his 
pocket and handed it to Henriette, pointing out an article 
marked with a red pencil on the first page. 

The paper was one of those ephemeral financial sheets 
which are started in Paris from time to time, and profess 
to teach people how to become rich in a very short time 
without running the least risk. This particular print, 
which had been originated only a few months previously, 
was captivatingly entitled, “La Prudence.” Henriette 
turned to the article M. Ravinet had marked, nnd read 
aloud, as follows : 

“We shall never tire of repeating to our subscribers the maxim, in 
one word, which forms the title of this journal — ‘Prudence, prudence!’ 
A recent event, we ought to say a recent disaster, has just confirmed 
the soundness of our doctrines, and justifies but too clearly our ad- 
monition to be careful. A company, which started into existence last 
year with amazing suddenness, which filled all the papers with its 
flaming advertisements, and docorated every blank wall with its gigan- 
tic postors— a company which, according to its own ‘puffs,’ was certain 
to enrich its shareholders, is already unable to pay the least dividend 
on its paid-up capital. As for the capital itself — but we will not antic- 
ipate events. All our readers will have understood that we refer to the 
Pennsylvania Petroleum Company, which, during the last week, has 


RUINED. 


203 


been the subject of much excited comment. Its shares, nominally 
worth 500 francs apiece, and issued at a large premium, are now being 
quoted on the Bourse at from 90 to 100 francs each. And yet, if ever 
any company seemed to offer every desirable material and moral guar- 
antee it was certainly this one. As its promoter and director figured a 
man who, in his day, was looked up to as a statesman endowed with 
rare administrative talents, and whose reputation for sterling integrity 
seemed to be above all suspicion. Need we say that this was the much 
vaunted Count de Ville-Handry? When the company burst into being, 
this high-sounding name was shouted from the housetops. It was the 
Count de Ville-Handry here, and the Count de Ville-Handry there. He 
was to enrich the country with a new branch of industry, and to change 
vile petroleum into precious gold.’ It was especially brought into 
notice that the noble count’s personal fortune almost equalled the 
whole of the new company’s capital — that is, 10 million francs. Hence 
he was described as risking his own money rather than other people’s. 
It is now a year since all these dazzling promises were made. What 
remains of them? A certain number of shares worth but a fifth part of 
their nominal value yesterday, and worth, perhaps, nothing at all to- 
morrow, and, in addition, a more than doubtful capital. Who could 
have expected in our days to see Law’s Mississippi Scheme revived?” 

The paper fell from the poor girl’s hands. She had turned 
as pale as death, and Mme. Bertolle noticing how she stag- 
gered, took her in her arms to support her. 

“ How horrible, ” murmured Henriette. u How horri- 
ble.” 

Still, she had not yet read everything, and Papa Ravinet 
therefore picked up the paper, and read the following par- 
agraph aloud : 

“Two delegates of the shareholders of the Pennsylvania Petroleum 
Company are to sail this morning from Le Havre for New York. These 
gentlemen have been sent out by their fellow-sufferers to examine the 
land on which the oil-wells, which constitute the only security, are 
situated. Some people have gone so far as to doubt even the very ex- 
istence of such oil-wells.” 

Again, on another page, under the heading of “ Miscel- 
lanea,” there appeared the following lines : 

“The Count de Ville-Handry’ s mansion was sold last week. This 
magnificent building, with the princely grounds attached to it, was 
knocked down to the highest bidder for die sum of 875,000 francs. 
The misfortune is, that house and grounds are burdened with mort- 
gages, amounting altogether to nearly 500,000 francs.” 

“All this is simply infamous,” stammered Henriette, in 
an almost inaudible tone. “ Nobody will believe such 
atrocious libels.” 

Papa Ravinet and his sister exchanged looks of distress. 
The poor girl evidently did not realize how her father had 


204 


RUINED. 


been duped, and yet, seeing her so crushed, they scarcely 
dared to enlighten her. At last, however, the old dealer, 
knowing but too well that uncertainty is always more 
painful than truth, ventured to say : 

“Your father is fearfully slandered, no doubt, but I have 
tried to inform myself, and two facts are certain. The 
Count de Yille-Handry is ruined, and the shares of the 
company have fallen to one hundred francs.” Changing 
his voice he added, almost in a whisper, “This has hap- 
pened because it is believed that the capital of the company 
has been appropriated to other purposes, and lost in spec- 
ulations on the Bourse.” 

He had been right in counting upon Henriette’s admira- 
ble energy of character. A glance of indignation shot from 
her eyes, and instantaneously dried her tears, and with 
surprising fierceness she exclaimed : 

“ That’s an infamous slander !” 

Inexperienced as she was she nevertheless instinctively 
realized the terrible nature of such a charge, and perhaps 
also its natural consequences. And, greatly excited, she 
continued : 

“ To accuse my father of such an abuse of confidence — of 
embezzlement ! Why should he have risked other people’s 
money on the Bourse ? To procure more money for him- 
self ? An adventurer, having nothing to lose — a man eager 
to become wealthy, and ready to risk everything in the 
attempt, might do that, but surely you wouldn’t expect 
such conduct from the Count de Ville-Handry — a man 
whom everybody knows and respects — a great nobleman 
with a fortune of many millions of his own.” 

As she spoke she shrugged her shoulders, and laughed 
contemptuously. 

“You forget, mademoiselle,” rejoined Papa Ravinet, 
with increased solemnity, “ that your father is no longer 
his own master. He has no more will or strength than a 
child ; he is completely under the control of one of those 
formidable creatures, who seem to possess a philter, by 
which they can beguile the senses and destroy reason. 
You forget ” 

“ I forget nothing, sir. My father is old ; he is feeble ; 
he is in love, and — credulous. People may have made him 
believe things that are not true, but no power on earth 
could convince him that a dishonest act is honest, and 
much less induce him to commit such an act.” 

“Ah, mademoiselle,” retorted the old dealer, “I am per- 
fectly convinced of Count de Ville-Handry’s integrity, but 


RUINED. 205 

I also know that he was utterly ignorant of business. 
What did he understand about these speculations he was 
drawn into? Nothing at all. It is a difficult and often a 
dangerous thing to manage a large capital. They, no 
doubt, deceived him, cheated him, misled him, and drove 
him at last to the verge of bankruptcy. ” 

“Who?” 

Papa Ravinet trembled on his chair, and raising his 
hands to the ceiling, exclaimed : 

“Who? You ask who? Why, those who had an inter- 
est in it, the wretches by whom he was surrounded. Pray, 
listen to me, mademoiselle. So far I have only repeated to 
you what is being said at the Bourse. As I told you, peo- 
ple say that the capital of the Pennsylvania Petroleum 
Company has been swallowed up by unlucky speculations 
at the Bourse. But I don’t believe these reports. On the 
contrary, I am quite sure that these millions were not lost 
at the Bourse, as they were never used for the purpose of 
speculating. Still they have none the less disappeared, and 
your father is probably the last man in the world to tell us 
how and where they have disappeared. But I know it, 
and when it becomes a question of recovering these enor- 
mous sums, I shall cry out, ‘Search Sarah Brandon, Coun- 
. tess de Ville-Handry ; search Sir Thomas Elgin and Mrs. 
Brian ; search Maxime de Brevan, their wretched tool.” 

Now at last a terrible light broke upon Henriette’s mind. 

“Then,” stammered she, “these infamous slanders have 
only been concocted to conceal an impudent robbery.” 

“ Quite so.” 

The young girl seemed to be making a great effort to 
comprehend ; at last she said : 

“ And in that case the articles in the papers ” 

“ Were written by the wretches who have robbed your 
father. Yes, mademoiselle, that’s the truth.” And shak- 
ing his fist with a threatening air Papa Ravinet added, 
“ Oh ! there is no doubt of it. How long has this paper ex- 
isted ? Barely six months. It was established, you may 
be sure, with the sole object of utilizing it one day for pub- 
ishing the articles you have just read.” 

Although Henriette could not well understand by what 
ingenious combinations such enormous sums could be ab- 
stracted, her doubts were conquered by Papa Ravinet’s air 
of earnest conviction. 

“Then,” said she, “the wretches now mean to ruin my 
father entirely.” 

“They must do so for their own safety. The money has 


206 


RUINED. 


been stolen, you see, so there must be a thief. For the 
world and the law courts, the criminal will be your father. ” 

“ For the law courts ?” 

“Yes, unfortunately!’’ 

The poor girl’s eyes wandered from the brother to the 
sister with a terrible expression of bewilderment. At last 
she asked : 

“And do you believe Sarah will allow my father’s name 
to be dishonored in that fashion — the name she bears, and 
was so proud of ?” 

“She will, perhaps, even insist upon it.” 

“Good heavens! What do you mean? Why should 
she?” 

Noticing her brother’s hesitation the old lady took it 
upon herself to answer. Touching Henriette’s arm, she 
said, in a subdued voice : 

“Because, you see, my poor child, now that Sarah has 
obtained possession of the fortune she wanted, your father 
is in her way ; because, you see, she wants to be free — do 
you understand? — free.” 

Henriette uttered a cry of such horror that both the 
brother and the sister at once realized that she had not 
misunderstood the horrible meaning of that word “ free.” 

But, since the blow had fallen, the old dealer did not 
think the rest need be concealed from Henriette. Rising 
to his feet, and leaning against the mantel-piece he ad- 
dressed the terrified girl in these words : 

“ You must at last learn to know the execrable woman 
who has sworn to ruin you. I know, by my own experi- 
ence, what crimes she is capable of, and I see clear into the 
dark night of her infernal intrigues. I know that this 
woman with the chaste brow, open smile, and soft eyes, 
has the genius and instincts of a murderess, and has never 
counted upon anything else but murder for the gratifica- 
tion of her lusts. From the first she realized that you 
were standing between her and those millions, and so she 
attacked you first of all. A brave and honest man, M. 
Daniel Champcey, loved you ; he would have protected 
you ; therefore she got him out of the way. Society might 
have interested itself in you, and have taken your side ; 
so she beguiled your father to slander you, ruin your rep- 
utation, and expose you to the contempt of the world. As 
you might, perhaps, have tried to find a protector, and 
have secured one, she placed by your side her wretched 
tool and spy, a forger, a criminal whom she knew capable 
of what even an accomplished galley-slave would have 


RUINED. 207 

shrunk from with disgust and horror— I mean Maxime de 
Brevan.” 

The very excess of Henriette’s emotion had partially re- 
stored her energy, and she exclaimed : 

“But haven’t I told you, sir, that Daniel himself con- 
fided me to M. de Brevan’s care? Haven’t I told you ” 

The old dealer smiled almost contemptuously, and con- 
tinued : 

“What does that prove? Nothing but M. de Brevan’s 
skill in carrying out Sarah Brandon’s orders. In order to 
obtain more complete mastery over you he began by ob- 
taining mastery over M. Champcey. How he succeeded 
in doing so I don’t know. But we shall know it when we 
want to know it, for we are going to find out everything. 
To resume, however. Through M. de Brevan Sarah was 
kept informed of all your thoughts and hopes, of every 
word you wrote to M. Champcey, and of all he said in re- 
ply ; for, no doubt , 1 he did answer, and they suppressed 
his letters, just as they, very probably, intercepted all of 
yours which you did not post yourself. However, as long 
as you remained under your father’s roof Sarah could at- 
tempt nothing against your life, and so she determined to 
make you fly from home, and Sir Tom’s mean persecu- 
tions served their purpose. You thought, and perhaps 
still think, that the scoundrel really wanted your hand. 
Undeceive yourself. Your enemies knew your character 
too well to hope that you would ever break your word, 
and become faithless to M. Champcey. But they were 
bent upon handing you over to M. de Brevan. And so, 
poor child, you were handed over to him. Maxime had 
no more idea of marrying you than Sir Tom had, and when 
he dared to approach you with open arms he was quite 
prepared to be rejected with disgust. But he had received 
orders to add the horror of his persecutions to the horror 
of your isolation and destitution. For he was quite sure, 
the scoundrel ! that the secret of your sufferings would be 
well kept. He had carefully chosen the house in which 
you were to die of hunger and misery. The two Chevas- 
sats were bound to be his devoted accomplices, even unto 
death, and thus he had the amazing boldness and incon- 
ceivable brutality to watch your slow agony. No doubt 
he became quite impatient at your delaying suicide so 
long. Finally you were driven to it, and your death 
would have realized their atrocious hopes if Providence 
had not miraculously stepped in — that Providence which 
always, sooner or later, takes its revenge, whatever the 


208 


RUINED. 


wicked may say to the contrary. Yes, these wretches 
thought they had now surely got rid of you when I ap- 
peared upon the scene. That very morning the woman 
Chevassat had, no doubt, told them, ‘She’ll do it to-night.’ 
And that same evening Sarah, Mrs. Brian, and Sir Tom, 
no doubt, hopefully asked each other, ‘Is it all over?’ ” 

Poor Henriette had remained listening with pallid cheeks, 
parted lips, and dilated eyes. It seemed to her as if a 
sun-ray were suddenly illuminating the dark abyss from 
which she had been snatched. , 

“Yes,” she said, “yes; now I see it all.” Then as the 
old dealer, out of breath, and hoarse with indignation, 
paused for a moment, she asked, “ Still, there is one cir- 
cumstance I scarcely understand : Sarah insists that she 
knew nothing of the forged letter by means of which Dan- 
iel was sent abroad. She told me, on the contrary, that 
she had wished to keep him here, because she loved him, 
and he loved her.” 

“Ah, don’t believe those lies,” interrupted Madame Ber- 
tolle. 

“No, certainly not. We ought not to believe such 
things,” said Papa Ravinet, scratching his head. “And 
yet I wonder if there is not some new trick in that. Un- 
less, indeed But no, that would be almost too lucky 
for us. Unless Sarah were really in love with.M. Champ- 
cey !” And as if he were afraid of having given rise to 
hopes founded upon this contingency, he immediately add- 
ed, “But let us return to facts. When Sarah was sure of 
you she turned her attention to your father. While they 
were slowly murdering you she profited by the Count de 
Ville Handry’s inexperience to lead him into a path at the 
end of which he was bound to leave his honor behind him. 
Just observe that the articles you read are dated on the 
very day you would probably have died. That is clear 
moral proof of her crime. Thinking that she had got rid 
of you, she evidently said to herself, ‘And now for the 
father.’ ” 

“ Good heavens !” cried Henriette. “ Yes, the proofs are 
coming out ; the crime will be disclosed. I have no doubt 
the murderers told each other that the Count de Ville- 
Handry would never survive such a foul stain on his hon- 
or. And so they dared everything, feeling sure that he 
would carry the secret of their wickedness with him to the 
grave.” 

Papa Ravinet leisurely wiped the perspiration from his 


RUINED. 


209 


“Yes,” said he, in a hoarse voice, “ that was probably, 
indeed, certainly, how Sarah Brandon reasoned in her own 
mind.” 

“What! you knew all this ?” rejoined Henriette, with 
flushed cheeks and burning eyes. “ You knew that they 
were murdering my father, and you did not warn him ? 
Ah, that was cruel cautiousness !” And like a young lion- 
ess she dashed toward the door. 

But Mme. Bertolle intercepted her, and cried : 

“ Henriette, my poor child ! where are you going ?” 

“To save my father, madam. Perhaps at this very mo- 
ment he is struggling in the last agonies of death, just as 
I struggled only two nights ago. ” 

In her excitement, she had caught hold of the door-knob, 
and endeavored to move the old lady out of the way. 

However, Papa Ravinet now intervened, and clasping 
Henriette’s arm, he said to her, impressively : 

“ I swear to you, mademoiselle, by all you hold sacred, 
and my sister will swear to you in like manner, that your 
father’s life is in no kind of danger.” 

On hearing this the poor girl gave up the struggle ; but 
her face still wore an expression of harassing anxiety. 

“Do you wish to prevent our triumph?” continued the 
old man. “Would you like to warn our enemies, put 
them on their guard, and deprive us of all hop^ of re- 
venge ?” 

Henriette passed her hand across her brow, as if en- 
deavoring to recover her peace of mind. * x ; 

“Remember,” resumed the dealer in a persuasive voice, \/ 
“ remember that such imprudence would save our enemies, 
without saving your father. Pray consider and answer 
me. Do you really think that your argument would be 
stronger than Sarah Brandon’s?” 

These arguments were so peremptory, that Henriette let 
go the door-knob, and slowly returned to her seat by the 
fire. And yet she was far from being reassured. 

“If I were to appeal to the police, '’ she suddenly pro- 
posed. 

“Poor child !” said Mme. Bertolle, who had sat down by 
her side and taken her hands in her own. “ Don’t you see 
that this creature’s whole power lies in the fact that she 
employs means which are not within the reach of human 
justice? Believe me, my child, it is best for you to rely 
blindly on my brother.” 

Once more the old dealer had resumed his place by the 
mantel-piece. “ Yes, Mile. Henriette, rely on me,” said he. 


210 


RUINED. 


“ I have as much reason to curse Sarah Brandon as you 
have, and perhaps I hate her more. Rely on me ; for my 
hatred has now been watching, and waiting for years, ever 
anxious to reach her, and secure revenge. Yes, for long 
years I have been lying in wait, thirsting for revenge, and 
pursuing her tracks with a Red Indian’s unwearied perse- 
verance. I have associated with the lowest of the low, 
and stirred up heaps of infamy to find out who she really 
is, and who her accomplices are, whence they came, and 
how they have met together to plot such fearful crimes — 
and I have found out everything. And yet in Sarah Bran- 
don’s whole career — albeit a career of theft and murder — 

I have not so far found a single fact which might bring her 
within the reach of the law, so cunning is her wicked- 
ness.” Then, as his face brightened with an air of tri- 
umph, he added, in a louder voice, “ However, this time 
success seemed to her so sure and so easy, that she has 
neglected her usual precautions. Eager to enjoy her mill- 
ions, and weary of affecting love for your poor father, she 
has been too eager. And she is lost, if we on our side 
only know how to be prudent. As for your father, mad- 
emoiselle, I have my reasons for feeling safe about him. 
According to your mother’s marriage contract, and in con- 
sequence of a bequest of two millions and a half left her 
by one £f her uncles, your father’s estate is your debtor 
to the amount of three millions ; which sum is invested in 
mortages on his Anjou estates. He cannot touch that 
money, even if he became a bankrupt. Should he die 
before you, that sum remains still yours ; and it is only 
in the event of your dying the first, that it would go to 
him. Now Sarah is so insatiable that she has sworn she 
will have these three millions as well.” 

“ Ah,” exclaimed Henriette, u You are right! It is Sa- 
rah’s interest that my father should live ; and so he will 
live, as long as she does not know whether I am dead or 
alive — in fact, as long as she does not know what has be- 
come of me.” 

“And she must not know that for some time to come,” 
chimed in the old man. “You ought to see how anxious 
your enemies are, since you have slipped out of their 
hands. Last night that woman Chevassat had come to 
the conclusion that you had gone out of the world alto- 
gether ; but this morning matters looked differently, 
Maxime de Brevan had been there, making a terrible roAv. 
and beating her because she had relaxed in her watchful- 
ness,. Th§ rascal ! He has been spending the whole day 


RUINED. 


211 


in running from the Prefecture de Police to the morgue, and 
back again. Destitute as you were, and almost with- 
out clothes, they ask themselves what could have be- 
come of you ? I, for my part, did not know ; and the 
Chevassats are far from suspecting that I dabbled in the 
matter. Bah ! It will soon be our turn ; and if you will 
only accept my suggestions, mademoiselle, everything 
will one day come right again.” 

It was past nine o’clock when the old dealer, his sister, 
and Henriette sat down to their modest meal. In the in- 
terval a hopeful smile had reappeared on Henriette’s 
face, and she looked almost happy, when, about midnight, 
Papa Ravinet left them with the words : 

“To-morrow evening I shall perhaps have some news. 
I am going to the Ministry of Marines.” 

Precisely at six o’clock on the following evening he 
again put in an appearance, this time carrying a carpet 
bag, and gesticulating so strangely, that it really seemed 
as if he had gone mad. 

“I want soiue money !” he cried out to his sister as soon 
as he entered? “ I am afraid I have not enough ; and 
make haste : I have to be at Lyons Railway Station at 
seven o’clock.” 

“What is the matter? What are you going to do,” asked 
both his sister and Henriette, plainly alarmed by his 
strange manner. 

“The matter?” he rejoined. “Why, nothing! Only 
Heaven itself has declared in our favor. I went to the 
Ministry of Marine to-day. The Conquest will remain 
another year in Cochin China ; but M. Champcey is com- 
ing back to Europe. He was to have taken passage on 
board a merchant vessel, The Saint Louis, which is ex- 
pected at Marseilles every day, if indeed she has not al- 
ready come in. And I — I am going to Marseilles, for I 
must see M. Champcey before anybody else can see him.” 
Then as soon as his sister had 'handed him a couple of 
thousand francs in bank-notes, and Henriette had written 
a short note of introduction to Daniel, to serve in case of 
need, he rushed out, exclaiming : “To-morrow I will send 
you a telegram 1” 


212 


A MYSTERIOUS BLOW. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

A MYSTERIOUS BLOW. 

If there is a civilized profession more arduous than 
others it is surely the sailor’s — so arduous, indeed, that one 
is almost disposed to ask how men can be found bold 
enough to embrace it, and firm enough in their resolution 
not to abandon it after a first trial. Not, on account of the 
peril and fatigue connected with it, but because it consti- 
tutes an existence unlike all others, in many instances 
quite incompatible with the exercise of free will. The 
sailor is usually most attached to his home. Many, one 
might say, most sailors, are married ; and by a kind of 
special grace they are apt to enjoy their short happiness on 
shore, as if it were destined to be eternal, andiquite indiffer- 
ent as to what the morrow may bring forth. But behold ! 
one fine morning, all of a sudden, a letter comes from the 
Admiralty. It is an order to sail. The seaman must go, 
abandoning everything and everybody — mother, family, 
and friends — perhaps the wife he has married the day be- 
fore, or the young mother smiling beside her first-born’s 
cradle, or the sweetheart who was but just now looking 
joyfully at her bridal vail. He must start, and stifle the 
ominous voices rising from the depths of his heart, which 
ask him, “Will you ever return? and, if so, will you find 
them all, your dear ones? and, if you find them, will they 
not have changed ! will they have preserved your mem- 
ory as faithfully as you will have preserved theirs ?” In 
reality, it is only in comic operas that sailors are seen sing- 
ing their most cheerful songs at the moment of starting on 
a long and perilous voyage. Their leave-takings are al- 
most sad and solemn. Such, indeed, was the case when 
The Conquest sailed — with Daniel Champcey on board as 
second lieutenant. On reaching Rochefort at five o’clock 
in the morning, he at once went on board, and slept the 
first night in his berth. Early the next day the ship 
weighed anchor. Daniel probably suffered more than any 
other man on board, though he succeeded in affecting a 
certain air of indifference. The thought that he had left 
Henriette in the hands of adventurers, who were capable 
of anything, caused him constant anxiety and grief ; and 


A MYSTERIOUS BLOW. 


213 


now, for the first time, a thousand doubts assailed him 
concerning Maxime de Brevan ; would he not be exposed 
to terrible temptation on being thrown thus suddenly into 
the society of a great heiress ? Might he not some day covet 
her millions, and try and profit by her peculiar situation, 
in order to win them for himself ? Daniel believed too 
firmly in Henriette to apprehend that she would even lis- 
ten to Brevan. But he reasoned, very justly, that she 
would find herself in a desperate condition indeed, if M. 
de Brevan turned traitor and went over to the enemy — 
that is, the Countess Sarah. “And yet,” thought Daniel, 
“my last directions were to urge her to trust implicitly in 
Maxime, and follow his advice as if it were my own !” 

In the midst of this anxiety, he hardly recollected that 
he had also intrusted Maxime with everything he pos- 
sessed. What was money to him in comparison with 
Henriette? His thoughts were as gloomy as ever, when a 
week after the sailing of The Conquest a violent tempest 
arose, endangering the vessel’s safety for fully three days. 
As the ship tossed to and fro, and the crew battled man- 
fully with the elements, Daniel’s anxiety for Henriette 
was vanquished by a sense of official responsibility ; and 
when at last the storm was conquered, he was actually 
able to enjoy a good night’s rest, the first he had had since 
leaving Paris. On awakening, he was surprised to feel 
comparative peace of mind. Henceforth his fate was no 
longer in his own hands ; it had been proved, beyond 
doubt, that he was unable to control events ; and thus res- 
ignation crept into the place of anxiety. His only hope 
was that he might, perhaps, soon receive a letter from 
Henriette, or maybe find one waiting for him on reach- 
ing his destination. 

Time passed -by, and The Conquest had been out three - 
months, when one afternoon, while Daniel was superin- 
tending a difficult maneuver, he was suddenly seen to 
stagger, raise his arms, and fall back on to the deck. Sev- 
eral seamen at once ran toward him and raised him up, 
but he gave no sign of life, and blood poured freely from 
his mouth and nostrils. Daniel had won the hearts of all 
the crew by his even temper, strict attention to duty, and 
kindness when disengaged toward all who came in con- 
tact with him. Hence, as soon as the accident, became 
known, sailors and officers hurried to the spot from all 
parts of the vessel. What had happened? Why had he 
fallen ? No one could tell ; for no one had seen anything. 
However, he must be seriously hurt, if the large pool of 


214 


A MYSTERIOUS BLOW. 


blood staining the deck was at all acceptable as evidence. 
He was promptly carried to the infirmary ; and, as soon as 
he recovered his senses, the surgeons discovered the cause 
of his fall and fainting. He had a severe wound on the 
back of his head, a little behind the left ear — a wound such 
as a heavy hammer in the hands of a powerful man might 
have produced. Who had dealt this terrible blow, which 
a miracle alone had apparently prevented from crushing 
the skull? No one could explain it — neither the surgeon 
nor the officers standing round the wounded man’s couch ; 
and when at last Daniel himself could be questioned, he 
knew no more about it than the others. There had been 
no one standing near him ; nor had he seen anybody ap- 
proach him at the time of the accident ; the blow, more- 
over, had been so violent, that he had * t once fallen down 
unconscious. These particulars were soon reported among 
the sailors and passengers on deck, and were at first re- 
ceived with incredulous smiles, and, when they could not 
longer be doubted, with bursts of indignation. What ! 
Lieut. Champcey had been struck on deck, in broad day- 
light ? How ? By whom ? The whole affair was so mys- 
terious that the captain at once ordered a searching in- 
quiry. At length some hairs and a clot of blood were no- 
ticed on a heavy pulley among the rigging, and seemed to 
furnish some kind of explanation. It was surmised that 
the rope to which this pulley was fastened had slipped 
through the hands of one of the sailors engaged in the rig- 
ging, during the maneuver superintended by Daniel, and 
that the man, frightened by the consequences of his awk- 
wardness, but, nevertheless, preserving his presence of 
mind, had drawn it up again so promptly that he had not 
been noticed. Could it be hoped that he would accuse 
himself ? Evidently not. Besides, what would be the use 
of it? The wounded man himself was the first to request 
that the inquiry might be stopped. So at the end of a fort- 
night, when Champcey, returned to duty, his shipmates 
ceased talking of the accident. Such things frequently 
happen on board ship, and besides, the idea that The Con- 
quest was approaching her destination now filled every 
mind, and furnished the exclusive topic of conversation. 
And really, one fine evening, just as the sun was setting, 
they came in sight of land, and the next morning, at day- 
break, the frigate sailed into the Dong-Nai, the king of 
Cochin Chinese rivers, which is so wide and deep, that 
vessels of the largest tonnage can ascend it without diffi- 
culty as far as Saigon. Standing on deck, Daniel watched 


A MYSTERIOUS BLOW. 


215 


the scenery of the river-banks — strange in aspect, and ex- 
haling pestilential fevers from their black yielding slime. 

“ Ah ! that’s Saigon, is it ?” exclaimed his best friend on 
board, the first lieutenant, who, offering him a telescope, 
added with an air of satisfaction : “ Look ! there, do you 
see? At last we’ve reached our destination. In two 
hours, Champcey, we shall be riding at anchor.” 

In the distance one could, indeed, detect against the 
deep blue sky the outlines of the curved roofs of the Sai- 
gon pagodas ; but another long hour was to elapse before, 
at a turn in the river, the town itself appeared to view — 
scarcely as handsome and as inviting as French geograph- 
ers would have us to believe. Saigon in those days mainly 
consisted of one wide street running parallel with the right 
bank of the Dong-Nai — a primitive, rmpaved street cut up 
into ruts, interrupted every now and then by large open 
spaces, and having on either side a succession of monoto- 
nous timber houses roofed with rice-straw or palm leaves. 
Thousands of boats were moored along the river-bank, 
forming, as it were, a kind of floating suburb, tenanted by 
a strange medley of Annamites, Hindoos, and Chinamen. 
At a short distance from the river rose a few massive build- 
ings roofed with red tiles, and here and there on the out- 
skirts appeared some Annamite farm nestling among 
“copses of areca-palms. Finally, on an eminence, Daniel 
beheld the citadel, serving both as an arsenal and as the 
residence of the French commander, just as in former 
times it had sheltered the Spanish colonel. Any town 
where we may happen to land after a protracted voyage 
has always certain attractions, so that all the officers of 
The Conquest, excepting the few on duty, went ashore as 
soon as the ship cast anchor. Most of them at once re- 
paired to the government house to inquire whether any 
fetters from France had arrived before them. It, indeed, 
so happened that a couple of swifter sailers — a French ves- 
sel and an English clipper, which had started nearly a 
month after The Conquest — had already reached Saigon a 
week or so in advance of the dilatory old frigate, and 
among the letters they carried there proved to be two for 
Daniel. He received them with feverish hands and beat- 
ing heart. But on glancing at the addresses he at once 
turned pale — for on neither of them did he recognize Hen- 
riette’s handwriting. However, he tore open the enve- 
lopes, and glanced at the signatures. The first letter was 
signed, “Maxime de Brevan,” and the other, “Countess de 
Ville-Handry,” nee Sarah Brandon. Daniel commenced 


216 


A MYSTERIOUS BLOW. 


with the latter, in which, after informing him of her mar- 
riage, Sarah described at great length Henriette’s conduct 
on the wedding-day “ Any other person but myself,” she 
said, “ would have been incensed at this atrocious insult, 
and would have profited by her position to revenge herself. 
But I, although not usually of a forgiving mind, will for- 
give her, Daniel, for your sake, and because I cannot see 
any one suffer who has loved you.” Finally, Sarah’s let- 
ter ended with the following postscript, “Ah, why did you 
not prevent my marriage, when you might have done so 
by a word? They think I have reached the height of my 
wisnes, and yet in truth I have never been more wretched.” 

This letter fairly enraged Daniel, who thought he could 
detect a strain of covert irony in every line. 

“ This miserable woman laughs at me,” he mused ; “ and 
when she pretends she will forgive Henriette, she really 
means that she hates her, and is determined to persecute 
her.” 

However, he was fortunately reassured by Maxime’s 
note. M. de Brevan confirmed Sarah’s account of the 
wedding fracas, adding, moreover, that Mile. Henriette 
was very sad, but resigned ; and that her step-mother 
treated her with the greatest kindness. Curiously enough, 
he did not say a word of the large amounts intrusted to 
his care, nor mention the sale of Daniel’s landed property, 
nor the price he had obtained for it. However, Daniel 
did not notice this ; all his thoughts were for Henriette. 

“Why has she not written,” he asked himself, “when 
both the others found means to write?” 

Overwhelmed with disappointment, he sat down on a 
wooden bench near one of the windows of the office where 
the letters were distributed, and traveling back in thought 
to France, he fancied himself once more under the trees 
in the count’s garden. There, in the pale moonlight, he 
thought he could again discern the form of his beloved as 
she stole toward him between the ancient elms. But a 
friendly touch on the shoulder suddenly recalled him to 
reality. Four or five brother officers were standing around 
him, £ay, and smiling. 

“Well, Champcey,” they asked, “are you coming?” 

“ Where ?” 

“ Why, to dinner !” And as he looked at them with the 
air of a man who has just woke up and not yet had time 
to collect his thoughts, they continued, “Yes, to dinner. 
It appears Saigon possesses an admirable French restau- 
rant, the cook of which is not merely a Parisian, but a 


A MYSTERIOUS BLOW. 


217 


great culinary artist as well. Come, get up, and let us go.” 

In Daniel’s frame of mind, however, solitude had irre- 
sistible attractions, and he trembled at the idea of having 
to tear himeslf away from his gloomy reverie, and take 
part in some careless conversation. 

“I can’t dine with you to-day, my friends,” he said to 
his comrades. 

“You are joking.” 

“No, I’m not. I must return on board.” 

Then only were the others struck by his sad expression, 
and, changing their tone, they asked him, with evident 
concern : 

“What is the matter, Champcey ? Have you heard of 
any misfortune, any death ?” 

“No.” 

“You have had letters from France, I see.” 

“ They bring me nothing sad ; but I was expecting news, 
which hasn’t come ; that’s all.” 

“Oh ! then you must come with us.” 

“ Don’t force me, pray ; I should prove a sorry compan- 
ion.” 

Despite all their efforts they failed to induce Daniel to 
change his mind, and at the door of the government house 
they went their way, while he sadly retraced his steps to- 
ward the harbor. He speedily reached the banks of the 
Dong-Nai ; but here he encountered difficulties which he 
had not previously thought of. The night was so dark 
that he could hardly pick his way along an uncompleted 
wharf, strewn with enormous stones and piles of timber. 
Not a light in all the native huts around, and despite all 
his efforts he could but barely discern the dark outlines of 
the vessels lying at anchor in the river, and the lighthouse 
reflector obscured by the fog. He called in vain. No 
voice replied. The surrounding silence was broken only 
by the low wash of the river as it flowed along. “How on 
earth,” thought Daniel, “shall I find our boat?” Still, 
affcer a long and patient search, he did succeed in finding 
it moored and half lost amid a crowd of native craft. 
However, the boat seemed to be empty,' and it was only 
on going aboard that he discovered a boy fast asleep in the 
bottom, wrapped up in a strip of carpet used to cover the 
officers’ seats. Daniel shook him testily, and the young- 
ster slowly rose, grumbling evidently with annoyance at 
having his sleep disturbed. 

“Well, what’s the matter?” he growled. 

“ Where are the men ?” asked Daniel. 


218 


A MYSTERIOUS BLOW. 


Quite awake now, the lad, who had good eyes, managed 
to discern Champcey’s gold epaulets, and immediately be- 
coming most respectful, replied : 

“Lieutenant, all the men are in town.” 

“ How so ? All of them ?” 

“ Why, yes, lieutenant ! When you came ashore the 
first lieutenant told the boatswain that as he and the other 
- officers would not return on board till late, the men might 
go and eat a mouthful, and drink a glass, provided none 
of them got drunk.” 

Daniel now remembered this circumstance, which he 
had momentarily forgotten. 

“ And where did the men go ?” he asked". 

“I don’t know, lieutenant.” 

Daniel looked at the large, heavy boat, as if asking him- 
self whether he could row it back to The Conquest with 
the mere assistance of this lad. No, on reflection, that 
was impracticable. “Well, go to sleep again,” he said to 
the boy. And jumping on shore again, without uttering a 
word of disappointment he turned to go in search of his 
comrades, when he suddenly perceived a man whose fea- 
tures it was impossible to distinguish in the darimess, 
spring as it were out of the fog. 

“Who are you?” asked Daniel. 

“Mr. Officer,” answered the man, in an almost unintelli- 
gible jargon, a horrible medley of English, French, and 
Spanish, “ I heard you tell the youngster in the boat 
there ” 

“ Well ?” 

“I thought you wanted to get back on board your ship?” 

“Why, yes, Ido.” 

“Well, then, if you like, I am a boatman, and I can take 
you over.” 

There was no reason why Daniel should’ mistrust the 
man. In all ports of the'world, and at any hour of the day 
or night, men are to be found waiting on the wharves for 
belated sailors, whom they usually charge a heavy price 
for their services. 

“ Ah; you are a boatman, eh ?” said Daniel, quite pleased 
at the encounter. “Well, where is your boat?” 

“ There, Mr. Officer, a little way down ; just follow me. 
But what ship do you want to go to ?” 

“ That ship there.” And Daniel pointed out the lights of 
The Conquest, lying some six hundred yards off in the 
river. 


A MYSTERIOUS BLOW. 


219 


“That’s rather far,” grumbled the man, “for the cur- 
rent’s very strong.” 

“I’ll give you a couple of francs for your trouble.” 

“Ah! if that’s it, all right,” exclaimed the man, clap- 
ping his hands with apparent delight. “Come along, Mr. 
Officer, a little farther down. There, that’s my boat. Get 
in, now steady !” 

Daniel followed his directions, but he was so struck by 
the man’s awkwardness in getting the boat off that he 
could not help saying to him : 

“Ah, my boy, you are not a boatman, after all.” 

“ I beg your pardon, sir ; I used to be one before I came 
to this country.” 

“Where do you come from, then?” 

“From Shanghai.” 

“Well, at all events you have a good deal to learn to 
make a proper sailor. ” 

Noticing that the boat was very small, a mere nutshell, 
in fact, Daniel thought he could, if needs be, take the oars 
and pull himself and the man. 

However, sitting down, and stretching out his legs, he 
resumed for the time being his gloomy meditation, from 
which he was abruptly roused by a most unexpected oc- 
currence. Owing to a wrong movement of the boatman, 
or some other cause, the little craft suddenly upset, and 
Daniel was thrown into the river. To make matters 
worse, one of his feet was so closely jammed in between 
two planks, 1 hat at first he could not extricate himself, 
but nolens volens had to go under water. The thought that 
he was lost flashed through his mind ; but, desperate as 
his position was, he was not the man to give up life with- 
out a struggle, and in a supreme effort, gathering up all 
his strength and energy, he caught hold of the boat, that 
had turned over just above him, and pushed it so forcibly 
that he loosened his foot, and at the same moment reached 
the surface. It was high time, for he had imbibed no lit- 
tle water. “ Now, he thought, “ I have a chance of saving 
myself !” A very faint chance alas ! — so faint, in fact, 
that it required all Daniel’s strong will and invincible cour- 
age to give it any effect. A furious current carried him 
down like a straw ; the little boat, which might have fur- 
nished some support, had disappeared ; and he knew noth- 
ing about this formidable Dong-Nai, except that it went 
on widening to its mouth. There was nothing to guide 
him, for the flight was so dark that land and water, the 
river and its banks, were all b lend ed^in the same well- 


220 


A MYSTERIOUS BLOW. 


nigh impenetrable obscurity. What had become of the 
boatman, however ? “ Ahoy, my man !” called Daniel at 
hap-hazard. 

But no answer came. Had the unfortunate fellow been 
swept off as well ? Had he got back into the boat again ? 
Perhaps he was drowned already. All of a sudden Dan- 
iel’s heart trembled with joy and hope. A few hundred 
yards ahead he perceived a red light, indicating a vessel 
at anchor, and at once he directed all his efforts toward 
that point. He was carried thither with almost bewilder- 
ing rapidity. With incredible presence of mind, and great 
precision, ne succeeded in clutching hold of the anchor- 
chain, at the very moment when the current drove him to 
it. With the desperate strength that such terrible peril 
imparts, he held on, and recovering his breath, shrieked, 
with all the strength of his lungs : 

“Help, help, help !” 

From the ship there at once came a call, “ Hold on !” 
proving that his appeal had been heard, and that help was 
at hand ; but, alas ! at the same moment an eddy in the 
terrible current tore the chain, slippery with mud, out of 
his stiffened hands with irresistible violence. Rolled over 
by the water, he was rudely thrown against the side of the 
vessel, went under, and was carried off. When he rose to 
the surface “again the red light was far behind him, and 
below no other light could be seen. No human help was 
henceforth within reach. Daniel could now count only 
upon himself in trying to make one of the banks. Al- 
though he could not measure the distance, which seemed 
very great, he fancied the task would not be beyond his 
strength, if he were only naked. But his clothes incum- 
bered him terribly, and the water they imbibed made 

them, of course, more weighty and oppressive every min- 
ute. 

“ I shall certainly be drowned,” he thought, “if I cannot 
get rid of my clothes.” 

Excellent swimmer as he was, the task was no easy one. 
Still he accomplished it. After prodigious efforts of 
strength and skill, he finally got rid of his shoes : and 

then, as if in defiance of the element against which he 
was struggling, he cried : 

“ I shall pull through ! I shall see Henriette again. ” 

But it had cost him an enormous amount of time to un- 
dress, and how could he calculate the distance which this 
current— one of the swiftest in the world— had carried 
him ? As he tried to recall all he knew about the river he 


A MYSTERIOUS BLOW. 


221 


remembered having noticed that, a mile or so below Saig- 
on, it was as wide as a branch of the sea. According to 
his calculation, he must now be near that spot. “Never 
mind,” he said to himself, “I mean to get out of this.” 
And not knowing which bank he was nearest to, he re- 
solved to swim toward the right one, on which Saigon 
stands. 

He had been swimming for half an hour or so, and al- 
ready began to feel his muscles stiffen, and his joints lose 
their elasticity, while his hands and feet grew cold, and 
his breathing became shorter, when he noticed from the 
wash of the water that he was near the shore. Soon he 
felt the ground under his feet, but the moment he touched 
it he sank up to his waist in the glue-like slime, which 
makes the banks of all the Cochin China rivers so pecu- 
liarly dangerous. There was the land, no doubt, and only 
the darkness prevented him from seeing it, and yet his 
situation was more desperate than ever. His legs were 
caught as in a vise ; the muddy water boiled up almost to 
his lips, and at every effort to extricate himself he sank 
deeper, a little at a time, but always a little more. His 
presence of mind, as well as his strength, now began to 
leave him, and his thoughts were growing more and more 
confused, when, while instinctively feeling for a hold, he 
happily touched a mangrove root. That root might save 
his life. First he tried its strength, and then, finding it 
sufficiently solid, he grasped it firmly, and gently hoisted 
himself up. Next, creeping cautiously over the treacher- 
ous mud, he finally succeeded in reaching firm ground, 
and fell down exhausted. He was saved from drowning, 
no doubt ; but what was to become of him — naked, ex- 
hausted, chilled as he was, and lost at dead of night in a 
strange, deserted country? However, after a moment’s 
repose he rose to his feet, and tried to walk on. But on 
all sides an entanglement of creeping lianes and cactus 
thorns barred his way. 

“Well,” he said at last, “I must stay here till day- 
break.” 

He spent the rest of the night walking up and down, 
and beating his chest, in order to lessen the terrible chills 
which penetrated to the very marrow of his bones. At 
dawn he perceived that he was, so to say, imprisoned in 
the midst of an almost impenetrable thicket, from which 
he only extricated himself after prodigies of ingenuity and 
courage. At last, after a walk of four hours, he reached 
the outskirts of Saigon. Some sailors of a merchant-ship, 


222 


A MYSTERIOUS BLOW. 


whom he met on the way, lent him a few clothes, and car- 
ried him on board The Conquest, which he reached more 
dead than alive. 

“Where do you come from, great God ! in such a state ?” 
exclaimed his comrades when they saw him. “What has 
happened to you ?” And when he told them all that had hap- 
pened since they parted, they rejoined, “Well, Champcey, 
you are certainly a lucky fellow. This is the second ac- 
cident from which you escape almost m iraculously. But 
mind the third !” 

“ Mind the third !” that was exactly what Daniel thought. 
For, in the midst of all his frightful sufferings the night 
before, he had indulged in many gloomy reflections. That 
mysterious blow which had stunned him on board ship ; 
this boat sinking suddenly, without any apparent cause — 
were these merely chance occurrences? He had been 
struck with the awkwardness of the boatman who had so 
unexpectedly turned up to offer him his services. This 
man, although a wretched sailor, might, however, be a 
first-class swimmer ; and having taken all his measures 
before upsetting the boat, might easily have reached land 
after the accident. 

“That fellow^,” mused Daniel, “plainly washed me to 
drown. But w 7 hy ? Evidently not for his own sake. Who 
is it, then, that w^ants to put me out of the way ? Sarah 
Brandon? No, that can’t be !” 

It was, indeed, improbable to imagine that a wretch in 
her pay should have found his w r ay on board The Con- 
quest, and have been precisely at the right moment on the 
wharf, the first time Daniel w^ent on shore. And yet his 
suspicions troubled him to such a degree that he determ- 
ined to make every effort to solve the mystery. To begin, he 
asked for a list of all the men w^ho had been allowed to go 
on shore the night before, and in reply he learned that out 
of the ship’s crew only the seamen manning the different 
boats had been in Saigon, but that, as permission had been 
given to all the emigrants to land, several of them had 
also gone on shore. 

Despite his great weakness Daniel then went to the chief 
police official, and asked him for an inspector, with whom 
he proceeded to the wharf, to the spot where the ship’s 
boat had been moored the night before. He asked the 
police agent to inquire round about whether any boatman 
had disappeared since the previous day. On all sides 
came a negative answer, but at last Daniel was shown an 
unfortunate Annamite who had been wandering up and 


A GLOOMY P11ESENTIMENT. 


223 


down the river-bank since early morning, tearing his 
hair, and crying that he had been robbed — for some one 
had stolen his boat. On the previous night Daniel had 
been unable to distinguish either the features or the dress 
of the man whose services he had accepted ; but he had 
heard his voice, and remembered its peculiar intonation 
so perfectly that he would have recognized it among thou- 
sands. Besides, this Annamite did not know a word of 
French, as a dozen persons testified, and born and bred 
on the river, he was quite an expert boatman — not at all 
the clumsy fellow by whom Daniel had been accosted. 
Finally, it was clear enough that if the Annamite had 
been the guilty party he would not have made so much 
noise over the loss of his boat. After this inquiry Dan- 
iel's conclusion was summed up in these words : 

“ There can be no doubt about it. That mysterious boat- 
man was paid to drown me.” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A GLOOMY PRESENTIMENT. 

Daniel quietly but tenaciously continued his investiga- 
tions. In reference to the seamen manning the ship’s 
boats, he learned that, while they were on shore, none of 
them had been ten minutes out of his companions’ sight, 
so that the pretended boatman evidently did not belong to 
The Conquest’s crew. Nor could he have belonged to the 
, detachment of marine infantry, for not a single soldier had 
been allowed to leave the vessel. However, there re- 
mained the emigrants, fifty or sixty of whom had spent 
the night in Saigon. Could Daniel’s would-be murderer 
be one of them? Would that supposition tally with the 
circumstances of the first attempt on his life? Perhaps so, 
for .several of the younger emigrants, wishing to relieve 
thej;edium of their voyage, had often lent a hand in work- 
ing the ship. Moreover, after careful inquiry, Daniel as- 
certained that four of these fellows had been with the sail- 
ors on the yards when he received that mysterious blow 
from above, which stunned and nearly killed him. Un- 
fortunately, however, he was unable to discover exactly 
who these four fellows were. Still the result of his inves- 
tigation sufficed to make life on board far more endurable. 
He could perform his duties in perfect safety, since he was 
now sure that the guilty man was not one of the crew. ■ 


224 


A GLOOMY PRESENTIMENT. 


He even felt great relief at the thought that this would-be 
murderer need not be sought for among those frank, 
brave tars. At least, none of them had been bribed with 
gold to kill him. So far as the emigrants were concerned, 
they had, unfortunately for his further investigations, 
been already scattered among the different establishments 
of the colony, according to its requirements ; so at least 
for the present he had to abandon a plan he had formed of 
talking with every one of them until he recognized the 
spurious boatman’s voice. 

Besides, he himself was not to remain at Saigon. After 
a first expedition, which kept him away for two months, 
he obtained command of a steam- sloop, detached to ex- 
plore and take the bearings of the River Kamboja, from 
the sea to Mitho, the second city of Cochin China. TJiis 
was no easy task, for the Kamboja had already defeated 
the efforts of several hydrographic engineers by its capri- 
cious and constant changes — nearly every pass and every 
turn varying with the monsoons, both in direction and 
depth. In addition, the mission had its own difficulties 
and dangers. The Kamboja itself is not only obstructed 
by foul swamps, but it flows between vast, marshy plains, 
which, in the rainy season, are covered with water, while 
in the dry weather, under the burning sun, they exhale 
that fatal malaria which has already cost thousands of 
lives. In less than a week after Daniel set out three of 
the men under his orders died before his eyes, after a few 
hours’ illness, and amid atrocious convulsions. A form 
of cholera had carried them off. During the following 
four months, moreover, seven others succumbed to fever, 
contracted in these pestilential swamps. And toward the 
end of the expedition, when the work was nearly finished, 
the survivors were so weakened that they had hardly 
strength enough to hold themselves up. Daniel alone had 
not yet suffered from these terrible scourges. And yet he 
had never spared himself, nor hesitated in doing his duty. 
To sustain and electrify these men — exhausted by sickness, 
and irritated at wasting their lives upon work that had no 
reward — a leader of uncommon intrepidity was needed, 
and such a leader they found in Daniel. 

He had told Sarah Brandon on the eve of his departure : 
“With a love like mine, with a hatred like mine in his 
heart, a man can defy everything. The murderous cli- 
mate will not harm me, and if I had ten bullets in my 
body I should still find strength enough to return and call 
you to account for your conduct toward Henriette.” He 


A GLOOMY PEESENTIMENT. 


225 


certainly had need of all the dauntless energy which pas- 
sion inspires to sustain him in his trials. But to him 
physical suffering was nothing in comparison with mental 
anxiety. At night, while his men slept, his tortured mind 
kept him awake pondering over his sufferings, and won- 
dering what was happening to Henriette. For although a 
year had now elapsed since he left Paris to sail on board 
The Conquest he had not received a single letter from her 
— not one. Each time a vessel arrived from France with 
dispatches his hopes revived, and each time they were 
disappointed. “ Well,” he would remark, “I can wait for 
the next.” And then he began counting the days, and 
when some long-expected ship arrived at last there never, 
never once came a letter from Henriette. How could this 
silence be explained ? What strange events could have 
happened? What must he think, hope, or fear? This 
uncertainty was terrible. Daniel would have been less 
tortured if some one had suddenly come and told him, 
“Mile, de Ville-Handry is dead.” Yes, less tortured, for 
true love in its savage selfishness suffers less from death 
than from treason. If Henriette had died Daniel would 
have been crushed, and maybe despair would have driven 
him to extreme measures ; but he would have been relieved 
of that horrible doubt within him, that doubt as to her 
promises, and those suspicions which would return de- 
spite all he did to conquer them. However, he knew that 
she was alive, for hardly a vessel arrived from France or 
England without bringing him a letter from Maxime, or 
from the Countess Sarah. 

For Sarah insisted upon writing to him, as if there ex- 
isted a mysterious bond between them, which she defied 
him to break. Every letter from the Countess Sarah 
bourght some news about her “step-daughter.” 

But she always spoke of Henriette with extreme reserve, 
and in ambiguous terms, as if counting upon Daniel’s sa- 
gacity to guess what she could not or would not write. 
According to her account Henriette had become reconciled 
to her father’s marriage. The poor child’s melancholy 
had entirely disappeared. She was very friendly with Sir 
Tom. Indeed, her coquettish ways became quite alarm- 
ing ; and her indiscretion provoked the gossip of visitors. 
Daniel might as well accustom himself to the idea, that, 
on his return, he would find Henriette a married woman. 
“ She lies, the wretch !” said Daniel ; “ yes, she lies !” But 
he tried in vain to resist ; every letter from Sarah brought 


22G 


A GLOOMY PRESENTIMENT. 


him the germ of some new suspicion, which fermented in 
his mind like the miasma in the veins of his men. 

The information furnished by Maxime de Brevan was 
different, and often contradictory even, but by no means 
more reassuring. His letters betrayed the perplexity and 
hesitation of a man who is all anxiety to soften hard 
truths. According to him the Countess Sarah and Mile, de 
Yille-Handry did not get on well together ; but he was 
compelled to say that the wrong was all on the young 
lady’s side, for she seemed to make it the study of her life 
to mortify her step-mother, while the latter bore the most 
irritating provocations with unchanging sweetness. He 
alluded to the calumnies which endangered Henriette’s rep- 
utation, and even admitted that she had given some ground 
for them by her thoughtless acts. He finally added that 
l^p foresaw the moment when she would leave her father’s 
house, in spite of all his advice to the contrary. 

“ And not one line from her, ” exclaimed Daniel, “ not 
one line.” And yet he wrote her letter after letter, be- 
seeching her to answer him, whatever might be the mat- 
ter, imploring her to hide nothing, however terrible, for 
the certainty even of a misfortune would be a blessing in 
comparison with this torturing uncertainty. He wrote 
without once imagining that she suffered the same tor- 
ments as himself, that their letters were intercepted, and 
that she had no more news of him than he had of her. 

Time passed, however, and Daniel returned to Saigon, 
bringing back with him one of the finest hydrographic 
works that exist on Cochin China. It was well known 
thac this work had cost an immense amount of labor, pri- 
vation, and life, hence he was rewarded as if he had won 
a battle — and he was rewarded instantly, thanks to special 
powers conferred upon his chief, subject only to confirma- 
tion in France, which in such cases was never refused. 
All the survivors of the expedition were mentioned in the 
official report ; two were decorated, and Daniel was pro- 
moted to be an officer of the Legion of Honor. Under 
other circumstances this distinction, doubly valuable to 
so young a man, would have made him supremely happy, 
but now it left him indifferent. The fact was, that these 
long trials had worn out the elasticity of his heart, and 
the sources of joy, as well as those of sorrow, had dried 
up. He no longer struggled against despair, but came to 
believe that Henriettehad forgotten him, and would never 
be his wife. He knew well enough that he himself could 
never love another woman, and life without Henriette 


A GLOOMY PRESENTIMENT. 


227 


seemed such a dreary prospect that at times he really 
asked himself whether it were worth living. There were 
moments when lie looked lovingly at his pistols, and asked, 
“ Why should I not spare Sarah Brandon the trouble ?” It 
was a feeling of hatred that restrained his hand. He 
must, he thought, at least resign himself to life until he 
had taken his revenge. Harassed by these anxieties, he 
withdrew more and more from society, and gave up going 
on shore, and his brother officers felt anxious for him as 
they watched him walking restlessly up and down the 
quarter deck, with a pale face and glowing eyes, for Dan- 
iel was a great favorite with his comrades. His superior- 
ity was so evident that none disputed it ; the others might 
envy him, but they could never be jealous of him. Some 
of them thought he had brought back from the Kamboja 
the germ of one of those implacable diseases which de- 
moralize the strongest, and, breaking out with sudden 
swiftness, carry a man off in a few hours. “ You ought 
not to become a misanthrope, Champcey,” they were in 
the habit of saying. “Come, for Heaven’s sake, shake 
off that sadness.” And they added, in a jesting tone, 
“Decidedly, you regret the Kamboja !” 

Intended for a joke, these words, after all, only expressed 
the truth. Daniel aid regret his mission, its hardships 
and perils. While it lasted responsibility, fatigue, hard 
work, and danger had at least procured him some hours 
of forgetfulness ; whereas comparative idleness now left 
him face to face with his distressing thoughts. It was the 
desire, the necessity almost, of escaping in some manner 
from himself, which induced him one day to join several 
of his comrades in a great hunting-party. On the eve of 
the expedition he had a curious presentiment. “A fine 
opportunity,” he thought, “for the assassin hired by Sarah 
Brandon !” And then shrugging his shoulders, he added, 
with a bitter laugh, “What ! am I hesitating? As if a life 
like mine were worth protecting against danger !” 

On the following day, when the party reached the hunt- 
ing-ground, Daniel received his instructions, and, like his 
comrades, had a post assigned him by the leader. He 
found himself placed between two brother officers, with a 
thicket behind him, and a narrow ravine — through which 
all the game must necessarily pass as it was driven down 
by a crowd of Annamites— in front. The sport had been 
going on for an hour or so, when those nearest Daniel sud- 
denly saw him drop his rifle, turn over, and fall to the 
ground, exclaiming, “This time they haven’t missed me.' 


228 


A GLOOMY PRESENTIMENT. 


At the outcry raised by those who witnessed the occur- 
rence, several other sportsmen hastened up, and .among 
them the chief surgeon of The Conquest, one of those old 
“pill-makers,” who, under an air of skepticism, and a 
rough, almost brutal manner, conceal great skill and al- 
most feminine tenderness. As soon as he saw the wounded 
man, whom his friends had stretched on his back, with 
an overcoat to serve as a pillow, he frowned, and growled : 

“ He won’t live.” 

The officers were thunderstruck. 

“Poor Champcey” said one of them, “to escape the 
Kamboja fevers, and be killed here at a pleasure-party ! 
Do you recollect, doctor, what you said on the occasion of 
his second accident — ‘Mind the third?’ ” 

The old doctor was not listening. Kneeling down, he 
had rapidly stripped Daniel’s coat off his back. The poor 
fellow had been wounded by a bullet, a little in the rear 
of the right side, between the fourth and fifth rib. The 
old surgeon had soon found the little round wound, but he 
was unable to ascertain at first sight where the projectile 
was lodged. However, he ventured to remark, “All 
things considered, he may perhaps pull through. The 
bullet may not have injured any vital part, for projectiles 
often take curious turns and twists. I should almost be 
disposed to answer for M. Champcey, if I had him in a 
good bed in the hospital at Saigon. At all events, we must 
try to get him there alive. Let one of you gentlemen tell 
the sailors who have come with us to cut down some 
young saplings, and make a litter of branches.” 

At this moment the old surgeon’s orders were abruptly 
interrupted by the noise of a struggle, interspersed with 
mingled oaths and groans. Twenty yards or so from the 
spot where Daniel had fallen a couple of sailors could be 
seen coming out of the thicket, dragging a man with a 
gun, who interrupted his swearing to shriek, “ Will you 
let me go, you parcel of ruffians ! Let me go, or I’ll hurt 
you l” He struggled so furiously in the arms of the two 
sailors, clinging with an iron grip on every available root, 
branch, and rock, turning and twisting at every step, that 
at last the men, furious at his resistance, lifted him up 
bodily, and threw him at the chief surgeon’s feet, exclaim- 
ing, “Here’s the scoundrel who has killed our lieutenant !” 

The culprit was a man of medium height, with a mus- 
tached, bearded face, and lack-luster eyes. He was 
dressed like an Annamite of the middle classes, wearing a 
blouse buttoned at the side, trousers in the Chinese style, 


A GLOOMY PRESENTIMENT. 229 

and sandals of red leather. Still it was evident that he 
was a European. 

“ Where did you find him ?” asked the surgeon. 

“Down there, commandant, behind that big bush in the 
rear of Lieut. Champcey, to the right.” 

“ Why do you accuse him ?” 

“Why? We have good reasons, I should think. He 
was in hiding, and when we saw him he was lying flat on 
the ground trembling with fear. We all of us said at 
once, ‘Surely there’s the man who fired that shot.’ ” 

In the meantime the fellow had raised himself erect, and 
assumed an air of almost provoking assurance. 

“They lie” he exclaimed. “Yes, they lie, the cow- 
ards !” 

This insult would have procured him a sound drubbing 
had not the old surgeon motioned the sailors back. Then, 
continuing his interrogatory, he asked : 

“ Why were you hiding ?” 

“ I wasn’t hiding.” 

“What were you doing, then, crouching in the bush?” 

“I was at my post, like the others. Do people require a 
permit to carry arms in Cochin China ? I was not invited 
to your hunting-party, to be sure, but 1 am fond of game, 
and I said to myself, ‘Even if I did shoot two or three 
head out of the hundreds the drivers bring down I sha’n’t 
interfere much with the officers’ sport. ’ ” 

The doctor let him talk on for some time, observing him 
closely with his sagacious eye ; then suddenly he ex- 
claimed : 

“Give me your gun !” 

The man "turned so pale that all the officers standing 
round noticed it. Still he did as he was bid, remarking : 

“ Here it is. It was lent me by one of my friends.” 

The doctor examined the weapon very carefully, and 
after inspecting the lock, he said : 

“Both barrels of your gun are empty, and they were not 
discharged more than two minutes ago.” 

“ That’s so ; I fired both barrels at an animal that passed 
me within leach.” 

“One of the bullets may have gone astray.” 

“ That can’t be. I was aiming in the direction of the open 
ground over there ; and I was turning my back to the offi- 
cer.” 

To everybody’s surprise the doctor’s face, ordinarily 
crafty enough, now looked all benevolent curiosity — and 
the two sailors who had captured the man were so dis 


230 


A GLOOMY PRESENTIMENT. 


tressed on noticing his kindly look that they ventured to 
exclaim, “Oh, commandant! don’t believe him, the dirty 
dog !” 

But the man, evidently encouraged by the surgeon’s ap- 
parent kindliness, boldly asked if he were not to be al- 
lowed to defend himself, impudently adding, “ After all, 
whether I defend myself or not, it will, no doubt, be all 
the same. Ah ! if I were only a sailor, or a soldier. But 
then lam nothing but a poor civilian; and everybody 
knows civilians must have broad shoulders in this part of 
the world. Wrong or right, as soon as they are accused 
they are convicted.” 

The doctor now seemed to have made up his mind, for 
interrupting this flow of words, he remarked, benevo- 
lently : 

“Calm yourself, my friend. There is a test which will 
clearly establish your innocence. The bullet that wounded 
Lieut. Champcey is still in his body, and I am the man 
who will have to take it out. All of us use conical bul- 
lets, whereas I see from your gun that you use round 
ones. So there is no mistake possible. I do not know if 
you understand me ?” 

Yes, the fellow understood well enough — so well, in- 
deed, that his pale face turned livid, and he glanced round 
him with frightened eyes. For an instant he hesitated, 
counting up his chances, no doubt ; then, suddenly falling 
on his knees, folding his hands, and beating the ground 
with his forehead, he cried out : 

“I confess! Yes, perhaps it was I who wounded the 
officer. I heard the bushes moving in his direction, and I 
fired at a guess. What a misfortune! Oh, God, what a 
mischance ! Ah, I would give my life to save his if I 
could. It was an accident, gentlemen, I swear. Such ac- 
cidents happen every day in hunting ; the papers are full 
of them. Great God ! what an unfortunate man I am !” 

The surgeon had stepped back. He now ordered the two 
sailors who had arrested the man to make sure of him, 
bind his hands, and take him to Saigon to prison. One of 
the officers, he said, would write a few lines, which they 
must take with them. The prisoner seemed annihilated. 

“A misfortune is not a crime,” he sighed. “Iam an 
honest mechanic.” 

“We shall see that in Saigon,” answered the surgeon, 
and he thereupon hastened away to ascertain if all the 
preparations had been made to carry the wounded man. 
In less than twenty minutes, and with that marvelous 


A GLOOMY PRESENTIMENT. 


231 


skill which is one of the characteristics of good sailors, a 
solid litter had been constructed. The bottom formed a 
real couch of leaves, and overhead a kind of screen had 
been made of larger branches. When Daniel was lifted 
and placed on the litter he uttered a low cry of pain. This 
was the first sign of life he had given since his fall. 

- “ And now, my friends,” said the doctor, “let us start ! 
And bear in mind that if you shake the lieutenant you’ll 
simply kill him.” 

It was eight in the morning when the melancholy pro- 
cession started homeward, and it was not until three A. M. 
that it reached Saigon, in the midst of one of those delug- 
ing downpours for which Cochin China is renowned. The 
sailors who carried the litter on which Daniel lay had 
walked eighteen hours without being relieved, through an 
almost impassable region, where at each moment a pass- 
age had to be cut through dense thickets of aloes, cacti, 
and jack-trees. Several times the officers offered to take 
the seamen’s places, but they always refused, and trudged 
on, taking as they went as ingenious precautions as a 
mother might have devised for her dying infant. 

Two officers had hastened on in advance to have a room 
prepared for Daniel. He was carried there, and when he 
had been gently laid on the bed, officers and seamen with- 
drew into an adjoining room to await the doctor’s sentence. 
He was aided in his task by two assistant surgeons who 
had been roused in the meantime. Hope was very faint. 
During the journey Daniel had recovered consciousness, 
and had even uttered a few words— incoherent ones, how- 
ever — clearly showing that he was more or less delirious. 
He had been questioned once or twice, but his answers had 
shown that he had no recollection of the accident which 
had befallen him, nor sense of his present condition ; so 
that the general opinion among the seamen, who all had 
more or less experience of shot-wounds, was, that fever 
would carry off their lieutenant before sunrise. Suddenly 
all comments were hushed and all eyes were turned to- 
ward the old surgeon, who had just appeared at the door 
of the sick-room. With a pleasant, hopeful smile on his 
lips he announced : 

“ Our poor Champcey is doing as well as could be expect- 
ed, and I should almost be sure of his recovery, if it were 
not for the great heat.” And silencing the murmur of 
satisfaction which this good news provoked he continued, 
“ Serious as the wound undoubtedly is it is nothing in com- 
parison with what it might have been, and what is more, 


232 


A GLOOMY PRESENTIMENT. 


gentlemen, I have the corpus delicti .” So saying he 
showed the bystanders a spherical bullet which he held be- 
tween his thumb and forefinger. “This,” said he, “is an- 
other example of the odd freaks projectiles sometimes in- 
dulge in. This bullet, in lieu of going straight through our 
poor friend’s body, had turned round his ribs and lodged 
itself near the backbone. I found it almost on the sur- 
face, and nothing was needed to dislodge it but a slight 
push with the probe.” 

The gun taken from the murderer had been deposited in 
a corner of the room ; it was now produced, the bullet was 
tried, and found to fit the barrel exactly. 

“Now we have a tangible proof,” exclaimed one young 
officer, “an unmistakable proof that the scoundrel our 
men caught is Daniel’s murderer. Ah, he might as well 
have kept his confession !” 

“Gently, gentlemen, gently,” replied the old surgeon, 
with a frown. “Don’t let us be overhasty in accusing a 
poor fellow of such a fearful crime, when, perhaps, he is 
only guilty of imprudence.” 

“ Oh, doctor, doctor” protested half a dozen voices. 

“ I beg your pardon ! Don’t let us be hasty, I say ; let us 
consider. For murder there must be a motive, and a very 
powerful motive ; for, apart from the risk no man in his 
senses is capable of killing another solely for the purpose 
of shedding blood. Now, in this case, I look in vain for 
any reason which could have induced this fellow to com- 
mit a murder. He certainly did not expect to rob our poor 
comrade. Perhaps you may say he was actuated by hatred 
or a desire for revenge. Well, that maybe. But before 
a man makes up his mind to shoot even the man he hates 
he must have been cruelly offended by him, and for this 
to occur they must have already come into contact. Now, 
I ask you, is it not more probable that the prisoner saw 
Champcey this morning for the first time ?” 

“ I beg your pardon, cpmmandant. He knew him per- 
fectly well,” interrupted one of the sailors, who had been 
charged with conducting the culprit to prison. He came 
forward, twisting his worsted cap in his hands ; and when 
the surgeon ordered him to speak out he resumed, “ Yes, 
the rascal knew the lieutenant as well as I know you, 
commandant, for he was one of the emigrants we brought 
out here eighteen months ago.” 

“ Are you sure of that ?” 

“As sure as I see you, commandant. At first my com- 
rade and I did not recognize him, for a year and a half in 


A GLOOMY PRESENTIMENT. 


233 


this wretcned country change a man horribly, but while 
we were taking him to jail we said to one another, ‘We’ve 
seen that face before. ’ So we made him talk, and after a 
bit he admitted that he had been one of the passengers, 
and that he even knew my name, which is Baptiste Lef- 
loch.” 

The sailor’s statement made a great impression upon 
all the bystanders except the old surgeon. It is true he 
was looked upon on board The Conquest as particularly 
obstinate in clinging to his opinions ' 

“Do you know,” he asked the sailor, “if this man ever 
had anything to do with Lieut. Champcey? Was he ever 
reprimanded by him, or punished ? Has he ever spoken 
to him ?” 

“Ah, commandant ! that is more than I can tell.” 

The old surgeon thereupon shrugged his shoulders, and 
remarked, “You see, gentlemen, this statement is too 
vague to prove anything. Believe me, don’t let us judge 
the case before the trial, and let us go to bed.” 

The dawn was just breaking as officers and seamen re- 
tired to their quarters. The surgeon was turning to lie 
down on a bed he had ordered to be put up in a room ad- 
joining that occupied by the wounded man, when the first 
lieutenant of The Conquest returned, exclaiming : 

“I should like to have a word in private with you, 
doctor.” 

“Very well,” replied the old surgeon, and locking the 
door he added, “I’m listening.” 

The lieutenant reflected for a moment, like a man seek- 
ing for the best manner in which to express an important 
idea, and then asked : 

“Between us, doctor, do you believe it was an accident 
or a crime ?” 

The surgeon plainly hesitated. 

“I don’t mind telling you frankly,” said he, “but you 
only, pray understand, that I don’t believe it was an acci- 
dent. But as we have no evidence ” 

“Excuse me ; I think I have evidence.” 

“How’s that?” 

“ You shall judge yourself. As you know, I was not far 
from Champcey when he fell, and as he staggered I heard 
him cry, ‘This time they haven’t missed me.’ ” 

“ Did he really say so ?” 

“Word for word. And Saint Edme, who was farther 
from him than I was, heard it as distinctly as I did.” 

To the lieutenant’s great surprise the chief surgeon 


234 


A GLOOMY PRESENTIMENT. 


seemed only moderately surprised ; in fact, his eyes shone 
like those of a man who congratulates himself on having 
foreseen exactly what he is now told to be a fact. Draw- 
ing a chair up to the fire-place, where a huge fire had been 
kindled to dry his clothes, he sat down, and said, “Do 
you know, my dear lieutenant, that what you tell me is a 
matter of the greatest importance ? What may we not 
conclude from those words, ‘This^ime they haven’t missed 
me V In the first place it proves that Champcey Was 
aware that his life was in danger. Secondly, that plural, 

‘ They, ’ shows that he knew he was watched and threat- 
ened by several people, hence the scamp we have caught 
must have accomplices. And thirdly, those words, ‘ This 
time,’ indicate that an attempt on his life has been made 
before. ” 

“That is just what I thought, doctor.” 

“Well,” resumed the old surgeon, looking very solemn, 

“ I had a very clear presentiment of all that as soon as I 
looked at the murderer. Do you remember the man’s 
amazing impudence as long as he thought he could not be 
convicted of the crime ? And then, when he found that 
his gun would betray him, how abject and painfully hum- 
ble he became. Evidently such a man is capable of any- 
thing.” 

“Oh, you need only look at him ” 

“Yes, indeed. Well, while I was watching him I in- 
stinctively recalled the two remarkable accidents which so 
nearly killed poor Champcey — that pulley that fell upon 
him from the skies, and that boating adventure in the 
Dong-Nai. However, I was still doubtful, but after what 
you tell me I am sure. Yes, I am ready to take my oath 
that this wretch is the vile tool of some people who hate 
or fear Champcey ; who are deeply interested in his death, 
and who being too cowardly to do taeir own business 
themselves, are rich enough to hire an assassin.” 

“But, doctor,” objected the lieutenant, “just now, when 
we were all together, you insisted ” 

“Upon a diametrically opposite doctrine ; eh?” 

“Precisely.” 

The old surgeon smiled. 

“ I had my reasons,” said he. “ The more I am persuad- 
ed that this man is an assassin the less I am disposed to 
proclaim it on the house-tops. He certainly has accompli- 
ces, and if we wish to reach them we must by all means 
reassure them, and let them imagine that everybody 
thinks it was an accident. If we frighten them they will 


THE PRISONERS HYPOCRISY. 235 

simply vanish before we can stretch out our hands to seize 
them. 1 ’ 

“ Cliampcey might be questioned ; perhaps he could fur- 
nish some information,” suggested the lieutenant. 

“ Question my patient,” retorted the old surgeon. “ Kill 
him, you mean. No ! If I am to have the wonderful good 
luck to pull him through no one shall come near his bed 
for a month. And, moreover, it will be very fortunate, 
indeed, if in a months’ time he has sufficiently recovered 
to carry on a conversation. And, besides, it is a ques- 
tion whether Champcey would be disposed to tell us what 
he knows, or what he suspects. That is very doubtful. 
Twice before he was almost killed, but did he ever tell us 
his secret? And, no doubt, he still has the same reasons 
to keep silent. At all events, I will think it over, and go 
and see the officials as soon as they are out of bed. But I 
must ask you, lieutenant, to keep my secret till further 
orders. Will you promise ?” 

“On my word, doctor.” 

“Then you may rest assured our poor friend shall be 
avenged. And now, as I have barely two hours to rest, 
please excuse me.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE PRISONER’S HYPOCRISY. 

As soon as he was alone the old surgeon threw himself 
on his bed, but he could not sleep. He had never in his 
life been so much puzzled. The more he reflected over 
this crime the more it seemed to him that it was the re- 
sult of some terrible mysterious intrigue ; and the very 
circumstance of having, as he fancied, raised a corner of 
the vail, fired him with the desire to draw it aside alto- 
gether. 

“Why,” said he to himself, “why mightn’t the scamp 
we hold be the author of the other two attempts as well ? 
There is nothing improbable in that supposition. The man, 
once engaged, might easily have been shipped on board 
The Conquest, and might have left France saying to him- 
self that it would be odd, indeed, if during a long voyage, 
or in a land like this, he did not find a chance to earn his 
money without running much risk.” The result of the 
chief surgeon’s meditations was, that at nine o’clock he 


236 


THE PRISONER’S HYPOCRISY. 


hurried to the office of the local public prosecutor, to 
whom he explained the matter very fully and plainly, and 
an hour afterward he crossed the yard on his way to the 
prison, accompanied by an investigating magistrate and 
his clerk. 

How is the man the sailors brought here last night?” 
he asked the jailer. 

“Badly, sir. He wouldn’t eat.” 

“What did he say when he got here?” 

■“Nothing. He seemed stupefied.” 

“You didn’t try to make him talk?” 

“Why, yes, a little. He answered that he had done 
some mischief ; that he was in despair, and wished he 
were dead.” 

The magistrate looked at the surgeon as if to say, “Just 
as I expected from what you told me.” Then, in his turn 
addressing the jailer, he said, “Show us to the prisoner’s 
cell.” 

The culprit had been put into a small cell on the first 
floor, and when the party entered they found him seated 
on his bed, in an attitude of meditation. But on perceiv- 
ing the surgeon he sprang to his feet, and with outstretched 
arms and rolling eyes exclaimed : 

“ The officer’s dead !” 

“No,” replied the surgeon, “no! Calm yourself. The 
wound is a very bad one, but in a fortnight he will be up 
again.” 

These words fell like a heavy blow upon the prisoner. 
He turned pale ; his lips quivered, and he trembled in 
every limb. Still he promptly mastered this weakness of 
the flesh, and falling on his knees, with folded hands, he 
murmured in the most dramatic manner, “Then I am not 
a murderer ! Oh, God, I thank thee !” And his lips moved 
as if he were whispering a fervent prayer. 

It was evidently a case of the coarsest hypocrisy, for his 
looks were at utter variance with his words and voice. 
The magistrate, however, seemed to be taken in. “You 
show proper feelings,” he said. 

“Now get up and answer me. Your name and age?” 

“Evariste Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, aged thirty- 
five.” 

“Where were you born?” 

“ At Bagnolet, near Paris. And on that account ” 

“Never mind. Your profession?” asked the magistrate, 
and as the man hesitated he added, “ In your own inter- 
est I advise you to tell the truth. It always comes out in 


THE PRISONER’S HYPOCRISY. 


237 


the end ; and your position would be a very serious one 
if you tried to deceive me. So answer at once.” 

“Well, I am an engraver on metal, but I have been in 
the army ; I served my time in the marine, infantry.” 

“ What brought you to Cochin China ?” 

u The desire to find work. I was tired of Paris. There 
was no work for engravers there, and I met a friend who 
told me the government wanted good workmen for the 
colonies.” 

“ What was your friend’s name ?” 

The fellow flushed slightly, and answered : 

“ I’ve forgotten it.” 

“That is very unfortunate for you,” coldly remarked the 
magistrate. “Come, make an effort ; try to remember.” 

“ I know T can’t ; it is not worth the trouble.” 

“Well, but no doubt you recollect the profession of the 
man who knew so well that the government needed work- 
men out here ? What was it ?” 

This time the prisoner turned crimson with rage, and 
cried, with extraordinary vehemence : 

“ How do I know ? Besides, what did I care about his 
name and profession ? I learned from him that workmen 
were wanted. I called at the Ministry, obtained a pass- 
age, and that’s all.” 

Standing in a corner of the cell the old surgeon did not 
lose a word the murderer said, or a motion he made. And 
he could hardly refrain from rubbing his hands with de- 
light as he observed the magistrate’s marvelous skill in 
dealing with all those little points, which, when summed 
up at the end of an investigation, form an overwhelming 
mass of evidence for the prosecution. The magistrate in 
the meantime impassively resumed : 

“ Well, let us leave that question, as it seems to irritate 
you, and deal with your sojourn here. How have you 
supported yourself at Saigon ?” 

“ By my work, of course. I’ve two arms, and I’m not 
an idler.” 

“ You have found employment as an engraver on metal, 
eh ?” 

I Evariste Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, could hardly 
conceal his impatience. 

“If you won’t let me have my say,” he broke out, inso- 
lently, “it isn’t worth while questioning me.” 

The magistrate did not seem to notice the man’s imper- 
tinent manner, but coldly retorted : 

“ Oh ! talk as much as you like. I can wait.” 


238 


THE PRISONER'S HYPOCRISY. 


“Well, then, the day after we landed, M. Farniol, the 
landlord of the French restaurant, offered me a place as 
waiter. Of course I accepted, and staid there a year. 
Now I wait at table at the Hotel de France, kept by M. 
Roy. You can send for my two masters ; they will tell 
you whether they have to complain of me.” 

“They will certainly be examined. Well, where do you 
live ?” 

“ At the Hotel de France, of course, where I am em- 
ployed.” 

The magistrate looked more and more benevolent. 

“ And is it a good situation — waiter at a restaurant or 
hotel ?” he asked. 

“Why, yes — pretty good.” 

“It pays well; eh?” 

“ That depends — sometimes it does, at other times it 
doesn’t. When it’s the season ” 

“ That’s so everywhere. But let us be accurate. You 
have been now eighteen months in Saigon ; no doubt you 
have laid up something ?” 

The man looked troubled and amazed, as if he had sud- 
denly discovered that the magistrate’s apparent benevo- 
lence had led him on to dangerous ground. 

“ If I have put anything aside it is not worth mention- 
ing,” he answered, evasively. 

“ On the contrary, let us mention it. About how much 
have you saved ?” 

Bagnolet’s looks, and the tremor of his lips, betrayed his 
inward rage. 

“I don’t know,” he sharply replied. 

With an admirably affected gesture of surprise the mag- 
istrate asked • 

“ What ! You don’t know how much you have laid by ? 
That’s too improbable ! When people save money, one 
sou after another, to provide for their old age, they know' 
pretty well ” 

“ Well, then, take it for granted that I have saved noth- 
ing.” 

“ As you like. Only it is my duty to show you the effect 
of your declaration. You tell me you have not laid any 
money by, don’t you? Now, what would you say if, after 
search is made, the police should happen to find a certain 
sum of money on your person, or elsewhere ?” 

“They won’t find any.” 

“ So much the better for you, for now it would be a ter 
rible charge.” 


THE PRISONER’S HYPOCRISY. 


239 


“Let them search.” 

“ They are doing so now, and not only in your room, but 
elsewhere also. They will soon know if you have invested 
any money or if you have deposited it with any of your 
acquaintances. ” 

“ I may have brought some money with me from home. ” 

* “ No, for you told me that you could no longer live in 
Paris, as you could find no work.” 

Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, started so violently that 
the surgeon really thought he was going to attack the 
magistrate. The rascal plainly realized he had been 
caught in a net, the meshes of which were drawing tighter 
and tighter around him ; and these apparently inoffensive 
questions suddenly assumed a terrible meaning. 

“Just answer me in one word,” resumed the magistrate, 
“Did you bring any money from France or not?” 

The man rose, and his lips parted to utter an oath, but 
he checked himself, sat down again, and laughing fero- 
ciously, exclaimed : 

“Ah, you would like to ‘squeeze’ me, and make me cut 
my own throat, eh ? But luckily I can see through you, 
and I refuse to answer.” 

“You mean you want to consider. Have a care ! You 
need not consider in order to tell the truth. And as 
the man remained obstinately silent the magistrate again 
resumed, “ You know what you are accused of ? You are 
suspected of having fired at the officer with intent to kill 
him.” 

“That’s an abominable lie.” 

“ So you say. How did you know that the officers of the 
Conquest had arranged a large hunting-party ?” 

“ I had heard them speak of it at table d’hote.” 

“ And you left your service on purpose to attend this 
hunt, some twelve leagues from Saigon? That’s certainly 
singular.” 

“ Not at all ; for I’m very fond of sport. And I thought 
that if I could bring back some game, I should be able 
to sell it at a good profit.” 

“And you would have added that profit to your other 
savings, wouldn’t you?” Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, 
was evidently stung by this ironical question, but as he 
said nothing the magistrate continued, “Explain to us 
how the thing happened.” 

On this ground the murderer knew he was at home, hav- 
ing had ample time to prepare himself, and with an accu- 
racy which did great honor either to his memory or verac- 


240 


THE PRISONER'S HYPOCRISY. 


ity, he repeated what he had told the surgeon on the spot, 
at the time of the catastrophe. He only added that he 
had concealed himself because he had realized that his 
awkwardness would expose him to a terrible charge. And 
as he continued his account, warming up with its plausi- 
bility, he recovered the impudence, or rather insolence, 
which seemed to be the prominent feature of his char- 
acter. 

“ Do you know the officer you wounded ?” asked the 
magistrate when he had finished. 

“ Yes, I made the voyage with him. He is Lieut. Champ- 
cey.” 

“ Have you any complaint against him ?” 

“None at all.” And in a bitter tone he added, “ What 
connection do you think there could be between a poor 
devil like myself and an officer like him ? Would he have 
condescended even to look at me? Would I have dared 
to speak to him ? If I know him it is only because I have 
seen him some distance off walking up and down the quar- 
ter-deck with the other officers after a good meal, while 
we fellows in the forecastle had to fill our bellies with salt 
fish.” 

“ So you had no reason to hate him ?” 

“None ; as little as anybody else.” 

Seated on a wretched little footstool, his paper on his 
knees, and an inkhorn in his hand, the magistrate’s clerk 
was rapidly taking down the questions and answers. His 
superior now told him that the examination was over, and 
turning to the prisoner, remarked : 

“ That is enough for to-day. 1 am bound to tell you 
that, having so far only detained you as a matter of pre- 
caution, I shall now issue a formal order for your arrest.” 

“ You mean that I am to be kept in jail ?” 

“Yes, until the court decides whether you are guilty of 
murder or involuntary manslaughter.” 

Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, seemed to have foreseen 
this conclusion, for he coolly shrugged his shoulders, and 
said : 

“ In that case I shall have my linen changed pretty often 
here, for if I had been wicked enough to plot a murder I 
should not have been fool enough to say so.” 

“ Who knows ?” replied the magistrate. “ Some evidence 
is as good as a confession.” And turning to his clerk he 
added, “Read the prisoner’s statements over to him.” 

A moment afterward, when this formality had been ful- 


THE PRISONER'S HYPOCRISY. 


241 


filled, the magistrate and the old surgeon left the room. 
The former looked extremely grave, and remarked : 

“You were right, doctor ; that man’s a murderer. That 
friend, whose name he would not tell us, is the rascal who 
employs him. And I mean to get that person’s name out 
of him if M. Champcey recovers, and will only give me 
the slightest hint. So nurse your patient, doctor, as care- 
fully as possible.” 

It was at least superfluous to recommend Daniel to the 
surgeon. If the old fellow was inexorable as regards all 
lazy fellows who pretended they felt ill for the purpose of 
shirking work, he was all attention and tenderness for his 
real patients, and his tenderness increased with the grav- 
ity of their ailment. He would not have hesitated a mo- 
ment between an admiral who was slightly unwell, and 
the youngest midshipman of the fleet who was dangerously 
wounded. The admiral might have waited a long time 
before he would have left the midshipman — an originality 
far less frequent than we imagine. To secure the old sur- 
geon’s best services Champcey ’s condition alone would 
therefore have amply sufficed. But in addition, like all 
who had ever sailed with Daniel, the surgeon also con- 
ceived a lively interest in him, and greatly admired his 
character. Besides, he knew that his patient alone could 
solve the mystery which puzzled. him so much. Unfortu- 
nately Daniel’s condition was such as to defy professional 
skill, and where everything depends on time, nature, and 
constitution. To try and question him would have been 
absurd, for he had so far continued delirious. At times 
he thought he was on board his sloop in the swamps of 
the Kamboja, but most frequently he imagined himself 
fighting against enemies bent upon his ruin. The name 
of Sarah Brandon, Mrs. Brian, and Thomas Elgin, were 
constantly on his lips, intermingled with threats and im- 
precations. For twenty days he remained in this condi- 
tion, and for twenty days and twenty nights his “man,” 
Baptiste Lefloch, one of those who had caught the mur- 
derer, remained at his bedside, watching his slightest 
movements, and nursing him with the utmost care and 
devotion. One day, when the old surgeon coinplimented 
Lefloch on his watchfulness and attention, the gallant fel- 
low remarked : 

“Ah ! when we were on the Kamboja expedition, and 
Baptiste Lefloch was writhing like a worm in the gripe of 
the cholera, and already quite blue and cold, Lieut. 
Champcey did not send for one of those lazy Annamites 


242 THE PRISONER’S HYPOCRISY. 

^ ( =*■* 

to rub him, but came himself, and rubbed him till he 
brought back heat and life itself. So now, you see, I 
want to do some little for him.” 

“You would be a great scamp if you didn’t,” replied 
the surgeon, who hardly left the wounded man himself. 
He visited him four or five times a da>, once at least every 
night, and in the afternoon he would remain for hours 
sitting by his bedside, examining him, and experiencing, 
according to the symptoms, sudden fluctuations of hope 
and fear. It was by listening to the patient’s delirious 
talk that he learned a part, at least, of Daniel’s history ; 
how he was to have married a daughter of the Count de 
Ville-Handry, who himself had married an adventuress, 
and how he had been separated from his betrothed by 
means of a forged letter. The doctor’s conjectures were 
thus confirmed ; such cowardly forgers would not hesitate 
to hire an assassin. But the worthy surgeon was too 
deeply impressed by the dignity of his profession to di- 
vulge secrets which he had heard at a patient’s bedside, 
and whenever the magistrate, growing more and more 
impatient, called to make inquiries, he was always an- 
swered, “ I have nothing new to tell you. It will take 
weeks yet before you can examine my patient. Crochard 
is, no doubt, tired of prison, but he must wait.” 

In the meantime Daniel’s long delirium had been fol- 
lowed by a state of torpor. Gradually he began to regain 
the partial use of his mind, recognizing the persons around 
him, and even stammering a few sensible words. But he 
was still so exceedingly weak that one or two short sen- 
tences quite exhausted him. However, at last he began 
to inquire, “Are there no letters for me from France?” A 
question which Lefloch, in obedience to the doctor’s or- 
ders, always answered in the negative. In doing so he 
told a falsehood, for since Daniel had been laid up three 
vessels had arrived at Saigon, two French and one Eng- 
lish ; and in their post-bags there were eight or ten letters 
for Lieut. Champcey. But the old surgeon said to him- 
self, and not without good reason, “It is, no doubt, cruel 
to leave the poor fellow in such uncertainty, but this un- 
certainty is free from at least imminent danger, whereas 
any excitement would kill him as surely as I could blow 
out a candle.” 

A fortnight elapsed, and Daniel recovered some little 
strength, even entering into a kind of convalescence, if a 
man who is unable to turn over in bed without assistance 
can be called a convalescent. But, with this physical im- 


THE PRISONER’S HYPOCRISY. 


243 


provement mental worry returned, and as he gradually 
ascertained how long he had been laid up his anxiety as- 
sumed an alarming character. 

“There must be letters for me,” he said to his man ; 
“you keep them from me. I must have them.” 

At last the old surgeon came to the conclusion that this 
excessive anxiety was likely to become as dangerous as 
the excitement he dreaded, so he said one day : 

“ Let us run the risk.” 

It was a burning hot afternoon, and Daniel had now 
been an invalid for seven weeks. Lefloch raised him on 
his pillows, “stowed him away,” as he called it, and the 
surgeon handed him his letters. Daniel uttered a cry of 
delight, for at the first glance he recognized Henriette’s 
writing on three of the envelopes. 

“ At last she writes !” he exclaimed, as he kissed them. 

The shock was so violent that the surgeon was almost 
frightened. 

“Be calm, my dear fellow,” he said. “Be calm ! Be a 
man, forsooth.” 

“Never mind me, doctor,” rejoined Daniel, with a smile, 
“you know joy is never dangerous, and nothing but joy 
can come from her who writes to me. However, just see 
how calm I am.” So calm, indeed, that he did not even 
take the time to see which was the oldest of his letters. 
Opening one of them at hap-hazard he read : 

“Daniel, my dear Daniel, my only friend, how could you intrust me 
to such an infamous scoundrel? How could you hand your poor Hen- 
riette over to such a wretch? This Maxime de Brevan, this scoundrel, 
whom you considered your friend, if you knew ” 

This was the long letter written by Henriette the day 
after M. de Brevan had told her he loved her, and that 
sooner or later, whether she chose or not, she must be his, 
giving her the choice between the horrors of starvation 
and the disgrace of becoming his wife. As Daniel went 
on reading his face grew even paler than before ; his eyes 
distended, and perspiration trickled down his temples. 
He trembled so violently that his teeth fairly rattled, and 
agonizing sobs rose from his chest. At last he reached 
the concluding lines : 

“Now,” the young girl wrote, “if none of my letters have reached 
you, they must have been intercepted. But I am going to post this 
one myself. For God’s sake, Daniel, return! Come back quick, if 
you wish to save, not your Henriette’s honor, but her life!” 


244 


THE PRISONER’S HYPOCRISY. 


Then the surgeon and the sailor witnessed a surprising 
sight. This man, who just now had been unable to raise 
himself on his pillows, who looked more like a skeleton 
than a human being, and had scarcely his breath left him 
— threw back his blankets with one hand, and sprang into 
the middle of the room, crying, with a terrible voice, “My 
clothes, Lefloch, my clothes !” The doctor had hastened 
forward to support him, but he pushed him aside with one 
arm, continuing, “By the holy name of God, Lefloch, 
make haste ! Run to the harbor, man ! there must be a 
steamer there. I’ll buy it. Let it get up steam instantly. 
In an hour I must be on my way. ” But this great effort 
exhausted him. He tottered ; his eyes closed ; and he 
fainted in the sailor’s arms, stammering, “That letter, 
doctor, that letter ; read it, and you will see I must go.” 

Raising his lieutenant, and holding him like a child in 
his arms, Lefloch carried him back to his bed ; but, for 
more than ten minutes, the surgeon and the faithful sea- 
man were unable to tell whether they had not a corpse be- 
fore their eyes, and were wasting all their attentions 
No ! It was Lefloch who first noticed a slight tremor. 

“ He moves ! Look, commandant, he moves ! He is 
alive ! We’ll pull him through yet.” 

They, indeed, succeeded in rekindling this nearly extin- 
guishable life, but they could not restore the vanished in- 
tellect. Daniel’s cold, indifferent stare, when he at last 
opened his eyes again, told them that his tottering reason 
had not been strong enough to sustain this new shock. 
And yet he must have retained some glimpses of the past, 
for his efforts to collect his thoughts were unmistakable! 
He passed his hands over his forehead, as if trying to get 
rid of the mist which enshrouded his mind. Then a con- 
vulsion shook him, and his lips overflowed with incohe- 
rent words, in which the recollection of the fearful reality, 
and the extravagant conceptions of delirium, were 
strangely mingled “I foresaw it,” said the chief sur- 
geon. “ I foresaw it but too fully.” He had by this time 
exhausted all the resources of his skill and long experi- 
ence ; he had followed all the suggestions nature vouch- 
safed, and he could now do nothing more but wait. Pick- 
ing up the fatal letter, he went toward one of the win- 
dows to read it. Daniel had said enough in his wander- 
ings to enable the doctor to understand the poor girl’s ap- 
peal, and Lefloch, who watched him, saw a big tear trickle 
down his cheek, as he. growled, “ This is enough to mad- 
den a fellow 1” Then like a man who is no longer master 


THE PRISONERS HYPOCRISY. 


245 


of himself, but who must move somehow or other, he 
stuffed the letter into his pocket, and left the room, 
swearing all the oaths of his vocabulary. 

It so chanced that precisely at that moment the magis- 
trate who was investigating the case called at the hospital 
to inquire after Champcey’s health. Perceiving the old 
surgeon as he entered the court-yard he hastened forward 
to question him. 

“Lieutenant Champcey is lost !” said the doctor, in a 
tone of despair. 

“Good heavens ! What do you mean ?” 

“ What I think. He has a violent brain fever, and weak- 
ened, exhausted, attenuated as he is, how can he endure 
it? He can’t, that’s evident. It would take another mir- 
acle to save him now, and you may rest assured it won’t 
take place. In less than twenty-four hours he will be a 
dead man, and his murderers will triumph.” 

“ Come, come, doctor !” interrupted the magistrate. 

“ I should like to know how you could keep them from 
triumphing?” continued the old surgeon, sarcastically. 
“ If Champcey dies you will be bound to release that scamp 
Crochard, for there will be no evidence against him. Or, 
if you send him before a court he will merely be declared 
guilty of involuntary homicide. And yet you know, as 
well as I do, that he wantonly fired at one of the noblest 
men I have ever met. And, when he has served his term 
he will receive the price of Champcey’s life, and spend it 
in orgies, while the real criminals, who have hired him, 
will go about the world with lofty pride, rich, honored, 
and haughty. ” 

“ Doctor !” 

But the old original was not to be stopped. 

“ Ah, let me alone !” said he. “ Your human justice — 
do you want me to tell you what I think of it ? I am 
ashamed of it. When you have sent three or four stupid 
murderers to the scaffold, and some few dozen blundering 
thieves to prison during the course of the year, you fold 
your black gowns around you, and proudly proclaim that 
all is well, and that society may sleep soundly — under 
your protection. Well, do you know what is the real 
state of things? You only catch the fools. The others, 
the intelligent ones, find their way through the meshes of 
your laws, and relying on their cleverness and your want 
of power, enjoy the fruit of their crimes in all the pride 
of impunity, and, no doubt, they will continue doing so 
until ” He hesitated, and apparently forgetful of his 


246 


THE PRISONER'S HYPOCRISY. 


usual atheism, added, “Until the day of divine judgment.” 

Far from appearing offended by this outburst of indigna- 
tion, the magistrate, who had listened impassively, profit- 
ed by the doctor having to draw breath to remark, “ You 
must have discovered something new.” 

“ Most assuredly I have. I think I hold at last the 
thread of the fearful plot which is killing poor Charnp- 
cey. Ah, if he were only to live ! But he cannot live.” 

“Well, well, console yourself, doctor. You said human 
justice has its limits, and that many criminals escape pun- 
ishment ; but in this case, whether M. Champcey lives or 
dies, justice shall be done, I promise you.” 

He spoke in a tone of such absolute certainty that the 
old surgeon was struck by it. 

“Has the murderer confessed the crime !” he asked. 

“No,” replied the magistrate, “ nor have I seen him again 
since the first examination. But I have not been dozing. 
Far from it, I have been searching, and I think I have 
sufficient evidence now to establish the truth. And if 
you, on your side, have any positive information ?” 

“Yes, I have, and I think I am justified now in com- 
municating it to you. I have a letter.” 

The old surgeon was pulling Henriette?s missive out of 
his pocket, when the magistrate stopped him, and sug- 
gested that they could not talk freely in a court-yard 
where every one was liable to watch them from the sur- 
rounding windows. 

Accordingly, they repaired together to the magistrate’s 
office, and as soon as they had sat down the legal func- 
tionary began : 

“ I shall ask you for your information by and by. First 
listen to what I have to say. I now know who Evariste 
Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, really is ; and I know the 
principal events of his life. Ah, it has cost me time and 
labor enough, but human justice is patient, doctor. As 
this man was a passenger on board The Conquest during 
more than four months, in company with a hundred and 
fifty other emigrants, I thought that he might have in- 
dulged in some long chats with his fellows, so as to lessen 
the monotony of so long a voyage. He is a ready speaker 
— a Parisian — so naturally endowed with a fair amount 
of bounce ; he formerly served as a soldier, moreover, 
and he has traveled a good deal. So he was, no doubt, 
always sure of an audience. Accordingly, I sent, one by 
one, for all the former passengers on board The Conquest 
whom I could find, altogether a hundred, perhaps, and I 


THE PRISONERS HYPOCRISY. ' 247 

examined them. I soon found out that my presumption 
was not unfounded. Almost every one of them had 
learned some particular of Bagnolet’ s life— some more, 
some less, according to the degree of honesty or immoral- 
ity which Bagnolet fancied he detected in them. I col- 
lected all their statements; I completed and compared 
them, one by the other, and with the assistance of the 
prisoner’s on confession, I was able to reconstruct his 
biography in every noteworthy particular.” 

Without seeming to notice the surgeon’s astonishment 
he then opened a large case on his table, and drawing 
from it,a huge bundle of papers, he exclaimed, “ Here are 
the verbal statements of my hundred and odd witnesses.” 
Then pointing to four or five sheets of paper, covered 
with very fine close writing, he added, “And here are my 
extracts. Now listen.” 

And at once he commenced reading this biography of the 
prisoner — pausing every now and then to make some 
additional remark, or to explain what he had written. 

“Evariste Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, was born at 
Bagnolet in 1820, and is consequently older than he says. 
According to his own account his parents were very hon- 
est people. His father was foreman in a copper foundry, 
and his mother a seamstress. They may be still living, 
but for many years they have not seen their son. The 
prisoner was sent to school; and, if you believe him, he 
learned quickly, and showed remarkable talents. But 
in his twelfth year he joined several bad companions of 
his own age, and frequently absented himself from home 
for weeks at a time — roaming all the while about Paris. 
How did he subsist on these occasions? He has never 
given a satisfactory explanation. But he has made such 
precise statements about the life of young thieves in the 
capital that many witnesses suspect him of having helped 
his mates to rob street stalls. At all events his father, 
distressed by his misconduct, and despairing of ever see- 
ing him mend his ways, had him sent to a house of cor- 
rection when he was fourteen years old. Released at the 
end of eighteen months, he says he was next bound as an 
apprentice, and soon learned his calling well enough to 
support himself. But this cannot be true, for four wit- 
nesses, one . of whom is of the very same profession as 
Crochard, declare that they have seen him at work, and 
that if he ever was a skilled mechanic he is so no longer. 
Besides, he cannot have been long at work, for he had 
been a year in prison again when the revolution of 1848 


248 


THE PRISONER’S HYPOCRISY. 


occurred. He has himself told this to more than five and 
twenty persons, though he has explained his imprison- 
ment very differently ; indeed, almost every witness has 
received a new version. One was told that he had been 
sentenced for having stabbed one of his companions while 
drunk ; another, that it was for a row in a wine-shop ; and 
a third, that he was innocently involved with others in an 
attempt to rob a foreigner. The prosecution is, therefore, 
fairly entitled to conclude that Crochard was sentenced 
simply as a thief. Released soon after the revolution, 
he did not resume his profession, but secured a place as 
machinist in a theater on the boulevards. At the. end of 
three months he was turned off, on account of improper 
conduct with women, according to one ; or, if we believe 
another statement, on account of a robbery committed in 
one of the actor’s dressing-rooms. Unable to procure work, 
he engaged himself as groom in a circus company, and 
thus traveled through the provinces. But at Marseilles he 
was wounded in a fight, and had to go to an hospital, 
where he remained three months. On returning to Paris, 
he associated himself with a tight-rope dancer, but he 
was soon called upon to enter the army. By good luck he 
escaped the conscription. But the next year we find him 
negotiating with a dealer in military ‘substitutes,’ and he 
confesses having sold himself merely to get hold of fifteen 
hundred francs’ bounty money, and be able to spend them 
in debauch. Having successfully concealed his antece- 
dents, he was next admitted as a substitute in the 13th 
Regiment of the line ; but before a year had elapsed he had 
to be punished for insubordination by being sent to 
Algeria. He remained there sixteen months, and con- 
ducted himself well enough to be incorporated in the First 
Regiment of Marine Infantry, one battalion of which was 
to be sent to Senegambia. He had, however, by no means 
given up his bad ways, for very soon afterward he was 
condemned to ten years’ penal servitude for committing 
burglary in a house at night-time.” 

The chief surgeon, who had for some minutes shown 
unmistakable signs of impatience, now suddenly rose to 
his feet, and exclaimed : 

“Excuse me if I interrupt you, but can you rely upon 
the veracity of your witnesses ?” 

“ Why should I doubt them ?” 

“ Because it seems to me very improbable that a cun- 
ning fellow like Crochard should have denounced himself.” 

“ But he has not denounced himself, for although he has 


THE PRISONER’S HYPOCRISY. 


249 


often mentioned this condemnation he has always -attrib- 
uted it to acts of violence against a superior. On that 
point he has never varied in his statements.” 

“ Then how on earth did you learn ” 

“ The truth ? Oh ! very simply. I inquired at Saigon, 
and I succeeded in finding a sergeant in the Second Regi- 
ment of Marine Infantry, who was in the First Regiment 
at the same time as Crochard. He gave me all these par- 
ticulars. And there is no mistake about the identity ; for 
as soon as I said ‘Crochard’ the sergeant exclaimed, ‘Oh, 
yes ! Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet.’ ” The doctor bowed 
in token of satisfaction, and the magistrate then contin- 
ued, “I resume the account. The prisoner’s statements 
since his arrest are too insignificant to be reported here. 
There is only one peculiarity of importance for the prose- 
cution, which may possibly enable us to trace the insti- 
gators of this crime. On three occasions, and in the 
presence of at least three witnesses each time, Crochard 
lias remarked in almost the same words, ‘No one would 
believe the strange acquaintances a man makes in prison. 
You meet there young men of good birth, who have done 
something foolish, and lots of folks who, wanting to make 
a fortune all at once, were not lucky in their venture. 
When they come out again many of these fellows get into 
very good positions, and then if you meet them they don’t 
know you. I have known some people in ‘quod’ who now 
ride in their carriages.’ ” 

“ Ah, ” muttered the old surgeon, “ might not some of 
these folks that Crochard met in prison have armed his 
hand ?” 

“That is the very question I asked myself.” 

“Because, you see, some of Daniel’s enemies are fearful 
people, and if you knew the contents of the letter I have 
— that dreadful letter which, no doubt, will be the cause 
of that poor boy’s death ” 

“ Allow me to finish, doctor,” interrupted the man of law. 
And then, he resumed, in a rapid tope, “ Here follows a 
blank. How the prisoner lived in Paris where he 
returned after his release, is not known. The prosecution 
is reduced to conjectures, for Crochard has refused to give 
details, and only makes very general statements as to 
these years. We only know that when he left Paris to 
sail on board The Conquest everything he took with him 
was new — his tools, his linen, and the clothes he wore, 
from the cap on his head to his shoes. Why were they all 
newT’ 


250 


THE PRISONER'S HYPOCRISY. 


“Upon my word, sir,” remarked the surgeon, “ I sur- 
render, and I do begin to hope that Lieut. Champcey may 
still be avenged. ” 

“Yes,” rejoined the magistrate, with a tone of delicate 
irony, “I really think human justice may this time reach 
the culprits. But wait before you congratulate me.” 

The old surgeon was too candid to try even to conceal 
his astonishment. 

“What !” said he, “you have more evidence still?” 

“The biography I have just read establishes nothing,” 
observed the magistrate. “Probabilities and presump- 
tion, however strong they may be, don’t conquer jurymen. 
They require proof, positive proof, before they return a 
verdict of ‘guilty ’ Well, such proof I have,” And so 
saying from the same box whence he had taken the 
papers concerning Crochard’s life, the magistrate now 
drew a letter, wTiich he shoQk emphatically in the sur- 
geon’s face. “Here is something, ” he said, “ which was 
sent to the public' prosecutor twelve days after the last 
attempt had been made on M. Champcey’s life. Listen !” 
And he read as follows : 

“Sib:— A sailor, who has come over to Boen-Hoa, where I live with 
my wife, has told us that a certain Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, has 
shot, and perhaps mortally wounded, Lieut. Champcey of the ship 
‘Conquest.’ Xp connection with this misfortune, my wife thinks, and 
I also consider it a matter of conscience, that we should acquaint yon 
with a very serious affair. One day, during our voyage out here, I 
happened to be on a yard-arm, side by side with Crochard, helping the 
seamen to furl a sail, when I saw him drop a huge pulley, which fell 
on Lieut. Champcey, and knocked him down. No one else noticed it; 
and Crochard at once pulled the rope up again. I was just consider- 
ing whether I ought to report him, when he implored me to keep the 
matter secret; for he had been very unfortunate in life, and if I spoke 
he would be ruined. Thinking that he had been simply awkward, I 
allowed myself to be moved, and promised Crochard that the matter 
should remain between us. But what has happened since proves very 
clearly, as my wife says, that I was wrong in keeping silent; and I am 
now ready to tell everything, whatever may be the consequences. 
Still, sir, I beg you will protect me, in case Crochard should think of 
avenging himself on me or on my family — a thing which might very 
easily happen, as he is a very bad man, capable of anything. As 1 
cannot write, my wife sends you this letter. And we are, with the 
most profound respect, &c.” 

“And have you seen the writer of this letter ?” asked 
the doctor. 

“ Certainly ! The man’s a blacksmith. He has been here, 
he and his wife. Ah, if the man had been left to his own 
counsels he would have kept it all secret, for he is so ter- 


THE PRISONER’S HYPOCRISY. 251 

ribly afraid of Crochard, but fortunately his wife had 
more courage.” 

“ Decidedly,” growled the surgeon. 1 The women are, 
after all, the better part of creation.” 

The magistrate carefully replaced the letter in the box, 
and then resumed, in his usual calm voice : 

“Thus the first attempt at murder is duly and fully 
proved. As for the second — the affair on the Dong-Nai — 
we are not yet quite so far advanced. Still I have hopes, 
for I have found out that Crochard is a first rate swimmer. 
Only three months ago he bet a waiter at the hotel where 
he was engaged that he would swim twice across the Dong- 
Nai, at the spot where the current is strongest, and he did 
it.” 

“But that is evidence, isn’t it?” 

“No, it is only a probability in favor of the prosecution. 
But I have another string to my bow. The register on 
board ship proves that Crochard went on shore the very 
evening The Conquest arrived. Where did he spend that 
evening, and in whose company ? Not one of my hundred 
and odd witnesses saw him that night. And that is not 
everything. No one noticed the next day that his clothes 
were wet. Therefore he must have changed them, and to 
do that he must have bought some others — for he had 
nothing with him but what he had on. Where did he buy 
these new clothes ? That is a point I mean to ascertain as 
soon as I am able to give up carrying on the investigation 
secretly, as I have done so far. For I never forget that 
the real criminals are in France, and will surely escape 
us if they learn that their wretched accomplice here is 
in trouble.” 

Once more the surgeon drew Henriette’s letter from his 
pocket, and handed it to the magistrate, saying : 

“I know who they are, the real culprits — Sarah Bran- 
don, Maxime de Brevan, and the others.” 

But the magistrate once more waved back the letter, 
and replied : 

“ It is not enough for us to know them, doctor ; we want 
evidence against them — clear, positive, irrefutable evi- 
dence. This evidence we will get from Crochard. Oh, I 
know these rascals’ ways. As soon as they see they are 
overwhelmed by the evidence against them, and feel they 
are in real danger, they hasten to denounce their accom- 
plices, and to assist justice in apprehending them. This 
prisoner will do just the same. When I have succeeded 
in establishing the fact that he was hired to murder M. 


252 


THE PRISONER’S HYPOCRISY. 


Champcey he will tell me who hired him, and he will have 
to confess that he was hired, when I show him how much 
of the money he received for the purpose is now left.” 

The old surgeon once more sprang from his chair. 

“What!” he cried, “you have found Crochard’s treas- 
ure ?” 

“No,” replied the magistrate, “not yet; but I think I 
know where it is. I have had a good deal of trouble in 
the matter. After the first examination I was morally 
certain that the prisoner had a relatively large sum hid- 
den somewhere, and I first gave all my attention to his 
room. I had all the furniture taken to pieces, the cover- 
ings of the chairs removed, and even the paper stripped 
from the walls. All in vain. I was beginning to despair 
of finding Crochard’s hiding-place, when a thought struck 
me, and I sent for the man with whom he made the bet 

about swimming across the Dong-Nai. He came, and 

But I prefer reading you his evidence.” So saying the 
magistrate drew a document from his bundle of papers, 
and read the following extract from his clerk’s minutes. 
“Magistrate. — At what point of the river did Crochard 
swim across? Witness. — A little below the town. M. — 
Where did he undress? W. — At the spot where he went 
into the water, just opposite Wang-Tai’s tile-factory. 
M. — What did he do with his clothes ? W. (very much 
surprised) — Nothing. M. — Excuse me ; he must have done 
something. Try to recollect. W. (striking his forehead) 
— Why, yes. I remember now. When Bagnolet had 
undressed I saw he looked annoyed, as if he disliked going 
into the water. But no ! that wasn’t it. He was afraid 
about his clothes, and did not seem satisfied till I told him 
I would keep watch over them. They consisted of a 
mean pair of trousers and a cheap blouse. As they 
bothered me to hold I put them down on the ground, at 
the foot of a tree. In the meantime he had done his work, 
and came back ; but instead of listening to my compli- 
ments, he furiously shouted, ‘My clothes!’ ‘Well,’ said 
I, ‘ they are not lost. There they are. ’ Whereupon he 
pushed me back fiercely, without saying a word, and ran 
like a madman to pick up his clothes.” 

The chief surgeon was electrified. 

“I understand ; yes, I understand,” said he, rising from 
his seat. 


ACCUMULATION OF PROOFS. 


253 


CHAPTER XXV. 

ACCUMULATION OF PROOFS. 

Thus proceeding from one point to another with energy, 
patience, and sagacity, the magistrate had succeeded in 
proving Crochard’s guilt, and the existence of accomplices 
who had instigated the crime. Undoubtedly he was proud 
of the feat, hard as he tried to retain his usual impassive 
appearance ; and probably it was only to raise himself 
the higher in the old surgeon’s estimation that he had 
hitherto refused to look at Henriette’s letter, wishing, 
indeed, to prove that he could afford to dispense with such 
assistance. But now that he had proved this so amply, he 
quickly asked for the letter, and read it. Like the chief 
surgeon, he was struck and amazed by M. de Brevan’s 
wickedness. 

“This is exactly what we wanted,” he exclaimed, “a 
positive proof of complicity. He would never have dared 
to treat Mile, de Ville-Handry in so infamous a manner if 
he had not been convinced, in fact, quite sure, that Lieut. 
Champcey would never return to France.” Then after a 
few minutes’ reflection, he added, “And yet I fancy there 
must be something else that we have not yet discovered. 
Why had Lieut. Champcey’s death been determined on, 
even before he sailed ? What pressing need can M. de 
Brevan have had to suppress him at that time ? Something 
must have happened between the two which we don’t yet 
know. What it is I can’t conceive. But the future evi- 
dently has some fearful mystery in reserve for us.” 

The surgeon and the magistrate had been so preoccupied 
with their thoughts that they had not realized the flight 
of time, hence they were considerably astonished now to 
note that dusk was already falling. Returning Henriette’s 
letter to the surgeon, the magistrate asked him : 

“ Is this the only one M. Champcey has received ?” 

“No, but it is the only one he has opened.” 

“Would you object to handing me the others?” 

The excellent doctor hesitated. 

“I will hand them to you,” he said at last, “if the inter- 
ests of justice require it. But why not wait?” 

He did not dare say, “Why not wait for M. Champcey’s 
death ?” but the magistrate understood him. 


254 


ACCUMULATION OF PROOFS. 


“Very well,” said he, “let us wait.” 

While talking they had reached the door. They shook 
hands, and the chief surgeon, whose mind was full of dark 
presentiments, then slowly walked back toAvard the hos- 
pital. A great suprrise awaited him there. Daniel, whom 
he had left in a desperate condition — at death’s door, so to 
say — Daniel was sleeping, calmly and soundly. His pale 
face had regained its usual expression, and his breathing 
was free and regular. 

“It’s almost incredible,” muttered the old surgeon, 
whose experience was quite at fault. “ Or am I an ass, 
and our science only a bubble ?” And turning to Lefloch, 
who was standing by, he asked, “How long has your 
master been sleeping like that ?” 

“For an hour, commandant.” 

“How did he fall asleep?” 

“Quite naturally, commandant. After you left the 
lieutenant was rather wild for some little time, but at 
last he quieted down, and asked for something to drink. 
I gave him a cup of tisane — he drank it, and then asked 
me to help him turn over toward the wall. I did so, and 
I saw him rest his head on his hand, as if he were think- 
ing. But about a quarter of an hour later, all of a sudden, 
I fancied I heard him gasp. I came up softly on tiptoe, 
and looked at him. But he wasn’t gasping, he was crying 
like a baby, and what I had heard were sobs. Ah, com- 
mandant ! I know him, you see, and I know he must 
have suffered something terrible for a man like him to 
cry like that. If I only knew where to find the rascals 
who’ve caused him all this worry I’d precious soon do for 
them — with your leave, commandant.” 

The worthy tar spoke with genuine emotion, and as he 
clenched his fists something bright, which looked prodi- 
giously like a tear, started from his eyes and trickled 
down his cheeks. 

“Well,” he continued, in a hoarse voice, “I guessed at 
once why the lieutenant asked me to turn him toward the 
wall, and I went back to my seat without his hearing me. 
A moment afterward he began talking aloud. But he was 
right in his senses now, I can tell you.” 

“ What did he say ?” 

“Ah, he kept on saying, ‘Henriette, Henriette P Still 
that sweetheart of his, whom he was always calling for 
when he had the fever. And then he said, ‘I’ve killed 
her, I’m the cause of her death. What a fool, what an 
idiot I was ! He has sworn to kill us both, the scoundrel ! 


ACCUMULATION OF PEOOFS. 255 

He swore it, no doubt, the very day when, like a fool, I 
confided Henriette and all my fortune to him.’ ” 

“Did he say that?” 

“ The very words, commandant, but better, a great deal 
better.” 

The surgeon seemed amazed. 

“ The magistrate was not mistaken,” he muttered. “ He 
suspected there was something else, and here it is.” 

“You say, commandant?” asked the sailor. 

“Nothing of interest to you, my man. Go on, please.” 

“Well, after that — but there’s nothing more to tell 
except that I didn’t hear anything more. The lieutenant 
remained in the same position till I lighted the lamp, when 
he ordered me to turn him round again, and lower the 
lamp-shade. When I’d done so I heard him give two or 
three big sighs, and the next time I looked up he was 
asleep like you see him now.” 

“ And how did his eyes look when he fell asleep ?” 

“Quite calm and bright.” 

“Well,” muttered the surgeon to himself, “he’ll pull 
through, I am sure now. I said there couldn’t be another 
miracle, and yet here we have one.” And turning to 
Lefloch he added, “ If your officer wakes up during the 
night you must send for me at once.” 

The seaman promised to obey the order, but Daniel did 
not wake up, and he had but just opened his eyes on the 
following morning, at about eight o’clock, when the chief 
surgeon entered the room. Glancing at his patient, he 
exclaimed : 

“Ah, well, I’m glad to see that our imprudence yester- 
day will have no bad effects.” 

Daniel made no rejoinder, but after the old surgeon had 
carefully examined him he began : 

“ Now, doctor, one question, a single one — in how many 
days shall I be able to get up and take ship ?” 

“Ah ! my dear lieutenant, there is time enough to talk 
about that.” 

“No, doctor, no ! I must have an answer. Fix a time, 
and I shall have the courage to wait, but uncertainty will 
kill me. Yes, I shall manage to wait, much as I may 
suffer.” 

The surgeon was evidently deeply touched. 

“ I know what you suffer, my poor Champcey,” he said ; 
“I read that letter which came much nearer killing you 
than Crochard’s bullet. Well, I think that in a month’s 
time you will be able to sail.” 


256 


ACCUMULATION OF PROOFS. 


“ A month” ejaculated Daniel, as if he had said a cent- 
ury. And after a pause he added, “ That is not every- 
thing, doctor ; I want to ask you for the other letters 
which I did not read yesterday.” 

“What? No, no. That would be too imprudent.” 

“No, doctor, don’t trouble yourself. The blow has 
fallen. If I didn’t lose my mind altogether yesterday 
that shows my reason can stand the most terrible trial. 
God be thanked, I have all my energy now. I know I 
must live, if I want to save Henriette — or avenge her, if I 
arrive too late. That thought, you may be sure, will 
suffice to keep me alive.” 

The surgeon hesitated no longer, and the next moment 
Daniel opened Henriette’s other letters. One of them, 
very long, was mainly a repetition of the first he had read. 
The other consisted only of a few lines : 

“Brevan has just left me. When he told me mockingly that I need 
not count upon your return, and cast an atrocious look at me, I easily 
understood his meaning. Daniel, that man wants your life; and he 
has hired a murderer. For my sake, if not for your own, I beseech 
you to be careful. Take care, be watchful; remember that you are the 
only friend and hope of your poor Henriette.” 

It was now truly seen that Daniel had not presumed too 
much on his strength and courage. Not a muscle in his 
face moved as he read these- lines ; his eye remained 
straight and clear, and it was with a bitter touch of irony 
in his voice that he exclaimed : 

“Look at this, doctor. Here’s the explanation of the 
strange ill-luck that has pursued me ever since I left 
France. ” 

At a glance the doctor read Henriette’s warning, which 
came, alas ! too late. 

“M. Champcey,” said he, “you ought to remember that 
M. de Brevan could not foresee that the murderer he hired 
would be caught.” 

This was an unexpected revelation for Daniel, who at 
once became all attention. 

“What? Has the man who fired at me been arrested?” 

Lefloch, quite unable to restrain himself at this juncture, 
impetuously replied : . 

“I should say so, lieutenant, and by my hand, too, 
before his gun had cooled.” 

The doctor did not wait for the questions which he read 
in his patient’s eyes. 

“Yes, it’s just as Lefloch says, lieutenant,” he observed, 


ACCUMULATION OF PKOOFS. 


257 


“and if you have not been told anything about it before 
it was because the slightest excitement might have poved 
^ fatal. Yesterday’s experience has only proved that too 
‘ clearly. Yes, the murderer’s in jail.” 

“And his account’s square,” growled the sailor. 

“Oh, I don’t want him punished any more than the 
bullet which hit me,” rejoined Daniel, shrugging his 
shoulders. “That wretched fellow is a mere tool. But 
you, doctor, you know who are the real criminals.” 

“And justice shall be done, I swear !” broke in the old 
surgeon, who looked upon his patient’s cause with as 
much interest as if it were his own. “ Our lucky star has 
sent us an investigating magistrate who is no trifler, and 
who, if I am not much mistaken, would like very much 
to leave Saigon with a loud flourish of trumpets. ” 

He remained silent for a moment, watching his patient 
out of the corner of his eye, and then suddenly exclaimed : 

“Now, I think of it, why couldn’t you see the magis- 
trate? He is all anxiety to question you. Consider, 
lieutenant, do you feel strong enough to see him ?” 

“Let him come by all means,” cried Daniel, “let him 
come ! Pray, doctor, go for him at once ” 

“ I will do my best, my dear Champcey. I will go 
immediately, and leave you to finish your correspondence.” 

He left the room with these words, and Daniel turned 
to the other letters, which were still lying on his bed. 
There were seven of them — four from the Countess Sarah, 
and three from Maxime. But what could they tell him 
now ? What did he care for the falsehoods and slander 
they contained ? However, he thought it as well just to 
glance at them. Faithful to her system, Sarah wrote vol- 
umes, and from line to line, in some way or other, her real 
or feigned love for Daniel broke forth more freely than 
ever. Had all her usual prudence forsaken her, or did 
she feel quite sure that her letters would never reach M. 
de Ville-Handry ? At all events, it seemed as if she were 
animated with an intense, irresistible passion, which, in 
defiance of all attempts at control, was now breaking 
forth, like a long smoldering fire. She said but little 
respecting Henriette, and yet enough to terrify Daniel, 
if he had not known the truth. Both she and De Brevan 
mentioned that Mile, de Ville-Handry had left her father’s 
house, and insinuated that she had eloped with some 
unknown lover, and was leading a life of ignominy. M. 
de Brevan declared that his heart bled at having to impart 
such grievous tidings, but friendship required that he 


258 


ACCUMULATION OF PROOFS. 


should speak the truth. These impudent lies fairly 
enraged Daniel, and his meditations were painful in the 
extreme. However, the old surgeon soon returned with 
the magistrate, thus putting an end to his reverie. For 
more than an hour Daniel had to answer an avalanche of 
questions. But the investigation had been carried on with 
such rare sagacity that he could only furnish the prosecu- 
tion with a single new fact — the surrender of his entire 
fortune into M. de Brevan’s hands. Somewhat ashamed 
of his imprudence in this respect, he tried to excuse him- 
self, and when he had concluded his explanations the 
magistrate observed : 

“ Now, one more question — would you recognize the man 
who attempted to drown you in the Dong-Nai ?” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Ah ! that’s a pity. That man was Crochard, I’m sure, 
but he will deny it, and the prosecution will have nothing 
but probabilities to oppose to his denial, unless I can iind 
the place where he changed his clothes.” 

“Excuse me, there is yet another way of ascertaining 
his identity, for the scoundrel’s voice is so deeply printed 
on my mind that even at this moment, while I am speak- 
ing to you, I think I can hear it ; I should certainly recog- 
nize it among a thousand. ” 

For a moment the magistrate hesitated, but at length 
making up his mind, he exclaimed, Well, it’s worth 
trying.” And handing his clerk, who had been a silent 
witness of this scene, an order to have the prisoner 
brought to the hospital, he said, “Take this to the jail, 
and make haste.” 

A month had now elapsed since Crochard’s arrest, and 
imprisonment, far from discouraging him, had raised his 
spirits. At first his examination had frightened him, but 
as the days went by he recovered all his usual bounce. 

“ They are evidently searching for evidence,” he thought ; 
“ but as they can find none they will have to let me go.” 

He looked, therefore, as insolent as ever as he entered 
Daniel’s room, exclaiming in an arrogant tone : 

“Well? I ask for justice ; I am tired of jail. If I am 
guilty send me to the guillotine ; if I am innocent ” 

But Daniel did not let him finish. 

“ That’s the man !” he exclaimed ; “ I am ready to swear 
to it, that’s the man.” 

Great as was Crochard’s impudence, he was fairly aston- 
ished, and darted his rapid, restless eyes in turn at the 
chief surgeon, the magistrate, and Lefloch, who stood at 


ACCUMULATION OF PROOFS. 


2C9 


the foot of his officer’s bed. The prisoner had too much 
experience of legal matters not to realize now that he had 
given way to absurd illusions, and that his position was 
tar more dangerous than he had imagined. But what was 
the exact meaning of this scene ? what had the prosecution 
found out? and what did they positively krow? The 
effort he made to guess all this imparted to his features 
an expression of excessive anxiety. 

“ Did you hear that, Crochard ?” asked the magistrate. 

By a great effort the prisoner had recovered his self-con- 
trol, and he now replied : 

“ I am not deaf. I hear perfectly well, only I don’t 
understand.” 

“ On the contrary,” retorted the magistrate, “you under- 
stand only too well. Lieut. Champcey says you are the 
man who tried to drown him in the Dong-Nai. He recog- 
nizes you.” 

“That’s impossible!” exclaimed the prisoner. “That’s 
impossible, for ” 

But the rest of the phrase remained in his throat. A 
sudden reflection had shown him the trap prepared for 
him — a trap familiar to examining magistrates, and terri- 
ble in its very simplicity. But for that reflection Crochard 
would have gone on saying, “ That’s impossible, for the 
night was too dark to distinguish a man’s features.” And 
those words would have been equivalent to a confession, 
and he would have had nothing to answer the magistrate, 
if the latter had rejoined, “How do you know that it was 
so dark on the banks of the Dong-Nai ? It seems you were 
there, eh ?” Quite pallid with fright, the prisoner there- 
fore simply said : 

“ The officer must be mistaken.” 

“I think not,” replied the magistrate, and turning to 
Daniel he asked him, “Do you persist in your declaration, 
lieutenant ?” 

“ More than ever, sir ; I am positive I recognize the 
man’s voice. When he offered me his boat he spoke a 
strange kind of jargon, intermingled with English and 
Spanish words ; but he did not think of changing his into- 
nation and Parisian accent.” 

Affecting an assurance which he was far from really 
feeling, Crochard carelessly shrugged his shoulders, and 
exclaimed : 

“ Do I speak English ? Do I speak Spanish ?” 

“No, very likely not, but like all Frenchmen who live 
in this colony, and like all the marines, you, no doul , 


260 ACCUMULATION OF PROOFS. 

know a certain number of words of both of these lan- 
guages.” 

To the great surprise of the docor and Daniel, the pris- 
oner did not deny it ; it seemed as if he felt he was on dan- 
gerous ground. “Never mind !” he exclaimed, in the most 
arrogant manner. “ But I must say it’s hard to accuse an 
honest man of a crime, simply because his voice re- 
sembles the voice of a rascal.” 

“ Do you pretend you are an honest man ?” asked the 
magistrate. 

“What! I pretend ! Send for my employers.” 

“ That isn’t necessary. I know your antecedents, from 
the first petty theft that procured you four months’ 
imprisonment, down to the burglary which sent you to the 
penitentiary for ten years, when you were in the army. ” 

Crochard looked absolutely stupefied, but he was not the 
man to give up a game in which his head was at stake 
without fighting for it. 

“ Well, there you are mistaken,” he coolly said. “ I was 
condemned to ten years, that’s true, when I was a soldier, 
but it was for having struck an officer who had punished 
me unjustly.” 

“ You lie. A man who was in your regiment, and who is 
now in garrison here in Saigon, will prove it.” 

For the first time the prisoner really seemed disturbed. 
He perceived his past, which until now he had thought 
unknown or forgotten, suddenly rising up in witness 
against him, and he knew well enough what weight such 
antecedents as his would have in the scales of justice. So 
he changed his tactics, and assuming an air of abject 
humility, replied : 

“Well, a man may have committed a fault and still be 
incapable of murder.” 

“That’s not your case.” 

“Oh, how can you say such a thing? Why, I wouldn’t 
as much as harm a fly. Unlucky gun ! Must I needs have 
such a mishap ?” 

The magistrate had for some time been looking at the 
prisoner with an air of profound disgust ? 

“ Look here, my man !” said he. “ Spare us these use- 
less denials. Justice knows everything it wants to know. 
That shot was the third attempt you made to murder a 
man.” 

Crochard drew back and turned livid. But he had still 
strength enough to reply, in a half- strangled voice : 

“ That’s false !” 


ACCUMULATION OF PROOFS. 261 

However, the magistrate had too much evidence to pro- 
long the examination on that point, so he simply said : 

“Well, who then dropped a heavy pulley on M. Champ- 
cey’s head during the voyage? Come, don’t deny it. The 
emigrant who was near you, and saw you, and who prom- 
ised he would not report you at the time, has since given 
evidence. Do you want to see him ?” 

Once more Crochard opened his lips to protest his inno- 
cence, but he could not articulate a sound. He was liter- 
ally crushed, annihilated ; he quaked in every limb ; and 
his teeth rattled in his mouth. He looked like a man at 
the foot of the guillotine, and may be that, feeling he was 
lost, he had a vision of the fatal instrument. 

“Believe me,” continued the magistrate, “ don’t insist ; 
you had better tell the truth.” 

For another minute yet the scoundrel hesitated. Then 
perceiving no other hope but in the mercy of his judge, 
he fell on his knees, and stammered : 

“ I am a wretched man. ” 

An exclamation of astonishment simultaneously escaped 
the doctor, Daniel, and Lefloch. But the man of law was 
not surprised. He knew in advance that the first victory 
would be easily won, and that the real difficulty would be 
to induce the "prisoner to confess the name of the person 
who had hired him. So, without giving him time to 
recover he asked : 

“Now, what reasons had you for persecuting M. Champ- 
cey in this way ?” 

The prisoner rose again, and making an effort he slowly 
said : 

“ I hated him. During the voyage he once threatened 
to have me put in irons.” 

“That’s false !” said Daniel. 

“Do you hear ?” asked the lawyer. “ So you won’t tell 
us the truth? Well, I will tell it for you. You were 
hired to kill Lieut. Champcey, and you wanted to earn 
your money. You received a certain sum in advance, and 
you were to receive a larger sum after his death.” 

“ I swear ” 

“Don’t swear. The sum in yourpossession, and which 
you can’t account for, is positive proof of what I say.” 

“Alas! I possess nothing. You may inquire, and 
search.” 

The moment had now come for the magistrate to strike 
a decisive blow, and ascertain the value of his system of 
induction. Instead of answering the prisoner he there- 


262 


ACCUMULATION OF PROOFS. 


fore turned to the colonial gendarmes who were present, 
and said to them : 

“ Take the prisoner into the next room. Strip him, and 
examine all his clothes carefully ; see if there is nothing 
hid in the lining.” 

The gendarmes were already advancing to seize the 
prisoner, when he sprang aside, and savagely exclaimed : 

“ No need for that. I have three one thousand franc 
notes sewn up in the lining of my trousers.” 

This time the pride of success quite got the better of the 
magistrate’s hitherto imperturbable coldness. He uttered 
a low cry of satisfaction, and could not refrain from 
glancing triumphantly at Daniel and the surgeon, as much 
as to say, “Well? What did I tell you?” But this lasted 
for a second only ; the next instant his features resumed 
their wonted expression of frigidity ; and turning to the 
prisoner he said, in a tone of command : 

“ Hand me those notes !” 

Crochard did not stir, but his livid countenance betrayed 
his sufferings. At this moment he was certainly not act- 
ing a part. What ! must he give up those three thousand 
francs — the price of his foul, execrable crime — the sum for 
which he had risked his life and soul. Gathering up his 
strength he cast a furious look round the room, asking 
himself, perhaps, if in lieu of escaping he might not at 
least vent his wrath on some one present. 

“ The notes !” repeated the magistrate. “ Must I order 
force to be used ?” 

Convinced of the futility of resistance, and of the folly 
of attempting to escape, Crochard hung his head. 

“ But I can’t undo the seams of my trousers with my 
nails,” he said. “Give me a knife or a pair of scissors.” 

They were careful not to do so. But at a sign from the 
magistrate one of the gendarmes approached, and draw- 
ing a penknife from his pocket, ripped up the seam at the 
place the prisoner pointed out. He literally writhed with 
agony when a tiny paper parcel was drawn forth, for, as 
is frequently observed among criminals, he was far more 
concerned about his money than about his life, which 
was in such imminent danger. 

“ That’s my money !” he shrieked. “No one has a right 
to take it from me. It is infamous to ill-use and rob a 
man who has been unfortunate. ” / 

The magistrate, who was, no doubt, quite accustomed 
to such scenes, did not even listen to Crochard, but quietly 
opened the packet. It consisted of three notes of a thous- 


ACCUMULATION OF PEOOFS. 


263 


and francs each, wrapped up in a very greasy sheet of 
letter-paper, worn through about the folds. There was 
nothing peculiar about the bank-notes, but faint traces of 
writing could be discerned on the letter-paper, and the 
words, “Rue de l’Universite,” at least, were distinctly 
legible. 

“What is this paper, Crochard ?” asked the magistrate. 

“ I* don’t know. I suppose I picked it up somewhere.” 

“What? Are you going to lie again? What’s the use 
of your doing so ? This is evidently the address of some 
one who lives in Paris, in the Rue de l’Universite.” 

“Ah, sir !” exclaimed Daniel, turning in his bed, “I 
used to live there. ” 

A faint blush suffused the magistrate’s face — his usual 
sign of self-satisfaction, and as if answering his own 
thoughts he muttered, “ Everything is becoming clear.” 
And yet, to his listeners’ great surprise, he abandoned this 
point, and returning to the prisoner, asked him : 

“ So you acknowledge having received money to murder 
Lieut. Champcey?” 

“I never said so.” 

“No, but the three thousand francs concealed on your 
person prove that very clearly. From whom did you 
receive this money ?” 

“ From nobody. They are my savings.” 

The magistrate shrugged his shoulders, and looking 
sternly at Crochard remarked : 

“ I previously compelled you to make a certain confes- 
sion, and I mean to do so again and again. You will gain 
nothing, believe me, by struggling against justice, and 
you can’t save the wretches who tempted you to commit 
this crime. There is only one course open to you, if you 
wish for mercy, and that is frankness. Don’t forget that.” 

The murderer was, perhaps, better able to appreciate the 
importance of such advice than any of the others who 
were present. Still he remained silent for a moment, 
trembling nervously, as if some terrible struggle were 
going on in his mind. 

“ I don’t denounce people,” he was heard to mutter. “ A 
bargain’s a bargain. I’m not a tell-tale.” But then, all 
of a sudden, making up his mind, and showing himself 
just the man the magistrate had expected to find, he 
exclaimed, with a cynical laugh, “Upon my word, so 
much the worse for them. Since I’m caught, why 
shouldn’t they be caught as well? Besides, who would 
have pocketed the big prize if I had succeeded ? Not I, 


264 


ACCUMULATION OF PROOFS. 


that’s certain, and yet it was I who risked most. Well, 
then, the man who hired me to do the lieutenant’s busi- 
ness is called Justin Chevassat.” 

Daniel and the surgeon exchanged looks of utter disap- 
pointment. This was not the name they had been waiting 
for with such anxiety. 

“You don’t deceive me, Crochard ?” asked the magis- 
trate, who alone had been able to conceal his feelings. 

“You may take my head if I lie !” 

Did he tell the truth ? The magistrate thought he did, 
for turning to Daniel he asked : 

“Do you know anybody named Chevassat?” 

“ No. It’s the first time in my life I hear the name.” 

“Perhaps Chevassat was only an agent,” suggested the 
surgeon. 

“Yes, that may be,” replied the magistrate, “although, 
in such matters people generally do their own work.” 
And continuing his examination he asked the prisoner, 
“Who is this Justin Chevassat?” 

“One of my friends.” 

“A friend richer than yourself, I should think?” 

“As to that — why, yes, for he has always plenty of 
money in his pocket, dresses in the latest fashion, and 
drives his own carriage.” 

“ What is his profession ?” 

“Oh, I can’t tell you that, for I never asked him, and 
he never told me. Once I said to him, ‘ Do you know you 
look like a very lucky fellow !’ But he replied, ‘Oh, not so 
lucky as you think,’ and that was all.” 

“Where does he live?” 

“In Paris, 39 Rue Louis-le-Grand.” 

“ Do you write to him there ? For I dare say you have 
written to him since you have been at Saigon.” 

“ I send my letters to M. X. O. X. 88, Poste Restante, 
Paris.” 

It was now evident that, far from endeavoring to save 
his accomplices, Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, would 
do all he could to aid justice in discovering them. He 
began to show the system he intended to adopt — to throw 
all the responsibility and the odium of his crime on the 
man who hired him, and figure himself as a poor devil, 
quite destitute when tempted, and dazzled by such mag- 
nificent promises, that he had not the strength to resist. 

“ W T here and how did you make Chevassat’s acquaint- 
ance ?” 

“I made his acquaintance in prison.” 


CROCHARD’S CONFESSION. £65 

“Ah! that’s becoming interesting. And do you know 
what crime he had been sentenced for?” 

“For forgery, I believe, and theft as well.” 

“ And what was his calling before he was condemned ?” 

“He was employed by a banker, I think, or else as 
cashier by some large firm. At all events, he had money 
to handle, and it stuck to his fingers. ” 

“You are so well informed with regard to this man’s 
antecedents that I’m surprised you know nothing of his 
present means of existence.” 

“ He has plenty of money ; that’s all I know.” 

“ Had you lost sight of him ?” 

“ Why, yes. Chevassat was set free long before I was. 
I believo he was pardoned, and I hadn’t met him for more 
than fifteen years.” 

“ How did you find him again, then ?” 

“ Oh, by the merest chance, and a very bad chance it 
was for me, since, but for him, I shouldn’t be here.” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

CROCHARD’S CONFESSION. 

Crochard assumed a studied position, and remained for 
a few moments in thought, as if preparing himself for his 
speech. 

“It was a Friday,” he at last began, “an unlucky day — 
a week or so before The Conquest sailed. It might have 
been two o’clock. I had eaten nothing ; I had not a sou 
in my pockets, and I was loafing along the boulevards, 
thinking how I might procure some money. I had 
crossed several streets, when a carriage stopped close to 
me, and I saw a very fine gentleman step out with a cigar 
in his mouth, a gold chain across his waistcoat, and a 
flower in his button-hole. He entered a glove shop. At 
once I said to myself, ‘Curious! I fancy I’ve seen that 
head somewhere before ?’ Thereupon I stationed myself 
near the shop, a little on one side, so as to be able to 
watch the fellow without being noticed myself. He was 
laughing and talking, and showing his white teeth, while 
a pretty girl tried him on a pair of gloves. The more I 
looked at him the more I thought, ‘Bagnolet, although 
that sweet soul don’t look as if he were a member of your 
society, you know him.’ However, as I couldn’t name 
him, I was going away, when suddenly my memory came 
back to me. Cretonnerre, ’ I said, ‘it’s an old comrade. I 


266 


CKOCHAKD’S CONFESSION. 


shall get some dinner after all. * Of course I wasn’t posi- 
tively sure— for fifteen years make a difference in a man, 
especially when he doesn’t particularly care to be recog- 
nized. But I had a little plan of my own to ascertain the 
truth. I waited for my man, and just as he was crossing 
the pavement to get into his carriage I stepped up, and 
called, ‘Eh, Chevassat !’ The scamp ! Although I didn’t 
speak very loud, he jumped as if he’d heard a cannon 
suddenly go off. And white he was— as white as his collar. 
However, he wasn’t without his compass. He puts up 
his eye-glass, and looks at me up and down, and then asks 
in his finest manner, ‘ What is it, my good fellow ? Do you 
want to speak to me V Thereupon, quite sure of my busi- 
ness, I answered him, ‘Yes, I should like a word or two 
with you, Justin Chevassat. Don’t you recollect me? 
Evariste Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, eh ? Do you recol- 
lect now !’ However, he continued to hold his head high, 
and looked at me. At last he says, ‘ If you don’t clear 
out I’ll call a sergeant-de-ville. 1 Well, the mustard got into 
my nose, and so as to annoy him, and collect a crowd, I 
began to say, ‘What, what ! The police ? Just call them, 
please do ! They will take us before a magistrate, no 
doubt, but I don’t fancy they’ll hang me, even if I am 
mistaken ; and if I’m not, well, then, they’ll laugh prodig- 
iously. What have I to risk? Nothing at all, for I 
haven’t got anything worth losing.’ While I was talking 
I looked at him like a fellow who’s got nothing in his 
stomach, but means to put something into it before long, 
and he — he looked at me quite as hard, and wished, per- 
haps, that his eyes were pistols, which they weren’t. At 
last, however, when he saw I was determined, he softened 
down. ‘Don’t make a noise,’ he whispered. The fact is, 
he was getting frightened of all the idlers who stopped to 
look at us, and so breaking out into a merry laugh, just so 
as to deceive the others, he whispers to me again as fast 
as he can, ‘Dressed like you are, I can’t ask you to get 
into my carriage, that would only compromise us both for 
no good whatever ; but I’ll send my coachman away and 
walk home. Just you follow me a little way off, and when 
we get into a quiet street we’ll take a cab and talk.’ As 
I felt sure of catching him again if he tried to escape, I 
gave him a wink, and said, ‘ All right, I understand. ’ ” 

At this point the magistrate interrupted the prisoner, 
and bade him take a moment’s rest. It was of importance 
that Crochard ’s evidence should be taken down in writ- 
ing, word for word ; and the clerk, fast as he wrote, 


CROCHARD’S CONFESSION. 


267 


had not been quite able to keep pace with the narrative. 
However, as soon as the prisoner’s last phrases had been 
consigned to paper, the magistrate told him to go on again, 
but not to speak quite so fast. Crochard received the 
recommendation with a smile, for it gave him time to 
select his words, and thus flattered his vanity. 

Well,” said he, “ Chevassat gave an order to his coach- 
man, who whipped up his horse and drove away, and then 
he promenaded down the boulevard, flourishing his cane 
and puffing his cigar, just as if he hadn’t the belly-ache at 
the thought that dear old Bagnolet was following on his 
heels. I must say he had lots of friends, very genteel 
ones, too, who wished him good-evening as he passed 
along, while some even stopped him, shook hands with 
him, and offered to treat him ; but he promptly left them, 
saying, ‘ Pray excuse me, I am in a hurry. ’ And to be 
sure so he was, for wasn’t I behind him, listening to every 
thing he and his friends said, and laughing in my sleeve? 
Well, my fine fellow went down the boulevard as f as 
the new opera-house, turned to the right, crossed the open 
square, and took the first street on the left. Here a cab 
passes, he hails it, and orders the driver to take us to 
Vincennes. We jump in, and his first care is to let down 
the blinds. Then he looks at me with a smile, holds out 
his hand, and says, ‘Well, old man, how are you?’ At 
first, when I saw myself so well received, I was quite 
surprised, but on reflection I thought it wasn’t natural for 
him to be so soft. ‘He’s getting some trick ready.’ said I 
to myself. ‘ Keep your eyes open, Bagnolet. ’ However, 
I answered him aloud, ‘Then you are not angry that I 
spoke to you, eh?’ He laughs, and answers, ‘No.’ ‘But 
you didn’t look quite pleased,’ says I, ‘and I fancied you 
wanted to get rid of me.’ ‘You’re mistaken, ’ said he. ‘But 
look here, I mean to talk to you frankly. For a moment 
I was surprised ; but I wasn’t annoyed. I have long fore- 
seen that something of the kind would happen, and I know 
that every time I go out I run the risk of meeting an old 
comrade. You are not the first one who has recognized 
me, but I am prepared to save myself all annoyance. If I 
wanted to get rid of you this very evening you would have 
lost all traces of me, thanks to a little dodge I have 
invented ; and besides, as you are in Paris without leave, 
you would be in jail again within four-and-twenty hours.’ 
He told me all this so calmly that I felt it was so, and that 
the scamp had some special trick of his own. ‘So,’ said 
I, ‘you rather like meeting an old friend, eh?’ He looked 


268 


CROCHARD’S CONFESSION. 


me straight in the face and replied, ‘Yes, and the proof of 
it is that if you were not here, sitting at my side and if I 
had known where to find you, I should have gone in search 
of you. I have something for you to do.’ ” 

From this point forward Bagnolet had every reason to 
be satisfied with his audience. Although the magistrate 
retained his customary impassive attitude Daniel and the 
old surgeon listened with breathless attention. They real- 
ized that the prisoner was reaching the really important 
part of his confession, and eagerly waited for his revela- 
tions. As for Lefloch, he stood by, listening with open 
mouth, his ingenuous features betraying the various 
emotions he experienced, as the prisoner — who but for him 
would probably have escaped justice — proceeded with his 
singular narrative. 

“Of course,” continued Crochard, “when Chevassat 
talked of something to do I opened my ears. ‘Why,’ said 
I, ‘ I thought you had retired from business. ’ And I really 
thought he had. ‘You are mistaken,’ he replied. ‘Since 
I left the place you know I have been living pretty nicely. 
But I have not put anything by, and if an accident I have 
reason to fear should happen to me I should find myself 
without a sou. ’ He wouldn’t tell me anything more about 
himself although I tried to question him, and I then had 
to tell him what I had been doing since my release. That 
didn’t take very long. I just told him that nothing I had 
tried had succeeded ; that I had lost my last situation as 
waiter in a drinking den ; and that for a month now I had 
been loafing about the streets without a sou, a change of 
linen, or a lodging, and no bed but the quarries. ‘If that’s 
the case,’ said he, ‘you shall see what a comrade is.’ The 
cab had been rolling along while we were talking, and we 
had now reached the suburbs. Chevassat raised the 
window-blind, looked out, and seeing a clothing store, told 
the driver to stop. Then he turns to me, and says, ‘Come, 
old man, we’ll begin by making you look decent.’ So we 
got out, and upon my word he buys me a shirt, a suit of 
clothes, a pair of boots, and a chimney-pot hat. There was 
a watchmaker a little farther down the street, and he posi- 
tively makes me a present of a gold watch — the one that 
was taken from me when you put me in jail here. Well, 
after spending five hundred francs or so he gives me eighty 
more to play the gentleman with. I did thank him, and 
no mistake, when we got into the cab again. All these 
purchases occupied some time, so that it was six o’clock, 
and almost dark, when we reached Vincennes. Chevassat 


CROCHARD’S CONFESSION. ; 209 

stops the cab, pays the driver, and taking me by the arm, 
says, ‘You must be hungry, old fellow, let’s go and get 
some dinner. ’ First of all, however, we had a glass of 
absinthe together, and then Chevassat goes straight to the 
best restaurant, asks for a private room, and orders din- 
ner. Ah, what a dinner ! Merely to hear it ordered made 
my mouth water. We sat down, and as I didn’t fear any 
thing, I wouldn’t have changed places with the Pope. 
And I talked, and ate, and drank ; I drank, perhaps, most, 
for I had not had anything to drink for a long time ; and 
besides I was rather excited. Chevassat unbuttoned, and 
told lots of funny stories which set me laughing heartily. 
But when the coffee had been served, with all kinds of 
liquors and fi’penny cigars, he suddenly got up, and went 
to the door, and carefully bolted it. Then he comes back, 
and sits down right in front of me, with his elbows on the 
table. ‘Now, old man,’ he says, ‘we have had enough 
laughing and talking. I’m a good fellow, you know ; but 
you yourself will understand that I’m not treating you 
merely for the sake of your pretty face. I want a good 
stout fellow, and I thought you might be the man.’ Upon 
my word, he told me this in such a peculiar way that I 
felt nervous, and began to be afraid of him. Still I hid 
my fears, and said, ‘Well, let us see. What’s the row?’ 
Then he replies, ‘ Why, as I told you before, I have not 
laid by a sou. But if anything happened to a certain per- 
son I know I should be rich, and you might be rich as well, 
if you were willing to give him a little push with the 
elbow, so as to send him off rather sooner. ’ When I heard 
Chevassat talk like that I felt my heart turn up, and I said 
to him, ‘Good Lord, what do you mean? you want me to 
commit a murder ? Never ! I’d rather die first. ’ But he 
only laughed in my face, and answered, ‘Don’t be a fool ; 
who talks of murder? I spoke of an accident. Besides, 
you would not risk anything. The thing would 'happen to 
him abroad.’ Still I continued to refuse, and even spoke 
of going away, but Chevassat produced a big knife, and 
dold me that now I had his secret I was bound to go on. 
If not ! and he gave me such a terrible look that, upon my 
word, I was fairly frightened, and sat down again. Then 
all at once he became quite as jolly as he had been before, 
and while he kept pouring brandy into my glass he 
explained to me that I should be a fool to hesitate, for I 
should never find such a chance again of making my fort- 
une. I might easily succeed, he said, and then I should 
have an income of my own, keep a carriage like he did, 


270 


CROCHARD’S CONFESSION. 


wear quite as fine clothes, and dine every day just as we 
had been dining that evening. I became more and more 
excited. The gold he kept on speaking of fairly dazzled 
my mind, and besides all the liquor I had been drinking 
got into my head. To urge me on he drew out his big 
knife again, and flourished it before my face, and at last 
I didn’t know what I was saying or doing. I got up, and 
striking the table with my fist I cried out, ‘I’m your 
man !’ ” 

Although this scene, as Crochard described it, had prob- 
ably never taken place, save in his own lively imagination, 
Daniel could not help trembling under his coverlet at the 
thought of these two scoundrels planning his death, with 
glass in hand, and their elbows resting on the wine-stained 
table-cloth. Lefloch, on his side, was grasping the head of 
the bedstead so tightly that the wood positively cracked. 
Perhaps he fancied he was throttling the man who talked 
so coolly of murdering his lieutenant. As for the magis- 
trate and the old surgeon, they were both intently watch- 
ing the prisoner, who, having drawn a handkerchief from 
his pocket, was diligently rubbing his eyes, as if he hoped 
to extract a few tears from them. 

“Come, come !” said the magistrate, “ don’t let us have a 
scene.” 

Crochard heaved a deep sigh, and then continued, in a 
tearful tone : 

“ I really can’t say what happened after that. I was 
dead drunk, and don’t recollect another point, -but from 
what Chevassat told me afterward I had to be carried into 
a cab, and he took me to a hotel in the neighborhood, 
where he hired a room for me. When I woke up the next 
morning, a little before noon, my head was as heavy as 
lead, and in trying to recall what had happened at the 
restaurant I fancied it was merely the bad wine that bad 
given me the nightmare. But unfortunately it was no 
dream, and I soon found that out, when a waiter came up 
with a letter for me. Chevassat wrote asking me to come 
to his house and have breakfast, for the purpose of talk - , 
ing business with him. Well, I went to the address he 
gave, and asked the concierge where M. Justin Chevassat 
lived in the house, and he directed me to the second floor, 
on the right hand. I went up, rang the bell ; a servant 
opened the door, and I found Chevassat in a dressing-gown, 
lying on a sofa in an elegant room. On the way I had 
made up my mind to tell him positively that he need not 
count upon me, for the whole affair horrified me, and 


CKOCHAED’S CONFESSION. 


271 


I retracted all I had said. But as soon as I began he 
became perfectly furious, called me a coward and a traitor, 
and told me that I had no alternative between making my 
fortune or having his long knife stuck between my shoul- 
ders. At the same time he spread a great heap of gold out 
before me. Then, yes — then I became weak. I felt I was 
caught. Chevassat frightened me, and the gold intoxi- 
cated me. I pledged my word, and the bargain was made.” 

As he said this Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, heaved a 
deep sigh of relief, like a man whose heart has been light- 
ened of a grievous burden. He, indeed, felt greatly 
relieved. It was a hard task to have to confess every- 
thing on the spot, without a moment’s respite to combine 
a plan of apology, and the scoundrel fancied he had man- 
aged cleverly enough to prepare a number of extenuating 
circumstances for the day of trial. However, the magis- 
trate promptly intervened. 

“ Wait a bit,” said he. “ What were the conditions that 
you and Chevassat agreed upon ?” 

“ Oh, very simple, sir. I, for my part, said yes to every- 
thing he proposed. He magnetized me, I tell you. So we 
agreed that he should pay me four thousand francs in 
advance, and six thousand certain afterward as well as a 
portion of the sum he might secure.” 

“ So you undertook to murder a man for ten thousand 
francs ?” 

“ I thought ” 

“ Such a sum is very far from those fabulous amounts 
which you said had blinded and carried you away.” 

“ Excuse me ; there was a share in the great fortune as 
well.” 

“ Ah, but you knew very well that Chevassat would 
never have given you anything out of it.” 

Crochard’ s hands twitched nervously. 

“ Chevassat cheat me ! cretonnerre !” cried he. “ But, 
no ; he knows me ; he would never have dared ” 

Catching the prisoner’s eye, the magistrate quietly 
retorted : 

“Then why did you tell me that that man magnetized 
you, and frightened you out of your wits?” 

The scamp had been caught, and instead of answering 
hung his head, and tried to sob. 

“Repentance is all very well,” resumed the magistrate, 
who did not seem to be in the least degree touched ; “but 
just now it would be better for you to explain how your 


272 


CBOCHAED’S CONFESSION. 


trip to Cochin China was arranged. Come, collect your- 
self, and give us the particulars.” 

“Well, as to that,” replied the prisoner, “Chevassat 
explained everything to me at breakfast, and the very 
same day he gave me the address you found on the paper 
in which my bank-notes were wrapped. ” 

“Why did he give you M. Champcey’s address?” 

“So that I might know him personally. ” 

“Well, go on.” 

“At first, when I heard he was a lieutenant in the navy 
I said I must give it up, for I knew that there’s no trifling 
with naval officers. But Chevassat bullied me, so that 
at last I lost my head again, and promised everything he 
wished. ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘listen to my plan. The Min- 
istry of Marine has advertised for mechanics to go to 
Saigon. There are still several vacancies, so you must go 
and offer yourself. The officials will accept you, and even 
pay your journey to Rochefort, and a boat will carry you 
out to the frigate Conquest, anchored in the roadstead. 
Do you know whom you’ll find on board ? Why, our man, 
Lieut. Champcey. Well now, I tell you that if any acci- 
dent happens to him, either during the voyage or at Saigon, 
that accident will pass unnoticed, like a letter through the 
post.’ Yes, that’s what he told me, every word of it, and 
I think I can hear him now. And I — I was so completely 
bewildered that I could find nothing to say in return. 
However, one thing reassured me, and I thought, ‘Well, 
after all, with my antecedents, they won’t accept me at 
the Ministry. ’ But when I mentioned the difficulty to 
Chevassat he simply laughed. ‘You are surely more of a 
fool than I thought,’ he said. ‘Are your condemnations 
written on your face? No, I should say. Well, as you 
will exhibit your papers in excellent order, you will be 
accepted.’ I opened my eyes and said, ‘What you say is 
all very pretty, but the mischief is that, as I haven’t 
worked at my profession for more than fifteen years, I 
have no papers at all,’ He shrugs his shoulders, and 
answers, ‘ You shall have your papers.’ That point wor- 
ries me, so I retort, ‘If I have to steal somebody’s papers 
and change my name I won’t do it.’ But the brigand had 
his plan. ‘You shall keep your own name,’ he said, touch- 
ing me on the shoulder. ‘You shall always be Crochard, 
surnamed Bagnolet, and you shall have your papers as an 
engraver on metal as perfect as anybody can have them.’ 
And, to be sure, two days afterward he gave me a set of 
papers, with signatures and seals, all in perfect order.” 


CROCHARD’S CONFESSION. 273 

“The papers found in your room, eh?” asked the magis- 
trate. 

“Exactly.” 

“ Where did Chevassat procure them ?” 

“ Procure them ? Why, he concocted them himself. He 
can do anything he chooses with his pen, the scamp. If 
he takes it into his head to imitate your own handwriting 
you would fancy you had written it yourself.” 

Daniel and the old surgeon exchanged significant 
glances. This was a strong and very important point in 
connection with the forged letter sent to the Ministry of 
Marine, and considered to have emanated from Daniel 
himself. The magistrate was as much struck by this fact 
as they were, but his features remained unchanged, and 
clinging to his original plan in spite of all the incidents of 
the examination, he asked : 

“ These papers caused no suspicion ?” 

“ None whatever. I had only to show them, and the 
officials accepted me. Besides, Chevassat said he would 
enlist some people in my behalf ; perhaps I had been 
specially recommended.” 

“ And so you sailed ?” 

“ Yes. At the Ministry they gave me my ticket and some 
money for traveling expenses, and five days after my first 
meeting with Chevassat I was on board The Conquest. 
Lieut. Champcey was not there. Ah, I began to hope he 
would not join the expedition at all. Unfortunately, he 
arrived forty-eight hours afterward, and we sailed at 
once.” 

“Now, Crochard,” said the magistrate, “I cannot 
impress too strongly on your mind how important it is for 
your own interests that you should tell the truth. 
Remember, all your statements will be verified. Do you 
know whether Chevassat lives in Paris under an assumed 
name ?” 

“No, sir; I always heard him called Chevassat.” 

“ What ? By everybody ?” 

“Well, I mean by his concierge and servants.” 

The magistrate considered for a moment how he should 
frame his next question, and then, all of a sudden, he 
asked : 

“ Suppose the — accident, as you call it, had succeeded. 
You would have taken ship ; have arrived in France, and 
gone to Paris ; now, how would you have found Chevassat 
to claim your six thousand francs ?” 

“Why, I should have gone to his house, where I break- 


274 


CROCHAKD’S CONFESSION. 


fasted with him, and if he had left the concierge would 
have told me where he was living now.” 

“ Then you really think you saw him at his own rooms ? 
Consider. If you left him only for a couple of hours, 
between your first meeting and your subsequent visit, he 
might easily have improvised new quarters for himself.” 

“Ah, I told the truth, sir. When dinner was over I had 
lost my wits, and I did not get wide awake again till 
noon the next day. Chevassat had the whole night and 
next morning to do as he liked.” Then, as a suspicion 
suddenly flashed through Crochard’s mind he exclaimed, 
“Ah, the brigand ! Why did he urge me never to write 
to him otherwise than ‘Postel Restante?’ ” 

The magistrate had turned to his clerk. 

“Just go -down,” said he, “and see if any of the mer- 
chants in town have a Paris Directory. ” 

The clerk sped off like an arrow, and promptly returned 
with the required volume. The magistrate then at once 
referred to the address in the Rue Louis-le-Grand, and 
found against “ No. 39” the mention “ Langlois, Sumptuous 
Apartments for Families and Single Persons. Superior 
Attendance. ” 

“I was almost sure of it,” he said to himself, and hand- 
ing Daniel the paper on which. the words Rue de l’Univer- 
site could be deciphered he asked, “ Do you know that 
handwriting, M. Champcey?” 

Too full of the lawyer’s shrewa surmises to express any 
surprise, Daniel looked at the words, and coolly replied : 

“That is de Erevan’s writing.” 

Crochard’s pale face flushed crimson. He was furious 
at the idea of having been duped by his accomplice, by the 
man who had instigated his crime, for which he would 
probably never have received the promised reward. 

“ Ah, the brigand !” he exclaimed. “ And to think I was 
very near not denouncing him at all.” 

A faint smile crossed the magistrate’s face. His object 
had been attained. He had foreseen this wrath on the 
prisoner’s part ; he had, indeed, carefully prepared it, 
trusting that it would bring him full light on the whole 
subject. 

“To cheat me, me!” continued Crochard, with extraor- 
dinary vehemence, “ to cheat a friend, an old comrade. 
Ah, the rascal ! But he sha’n’t go to paradise if I can 
help it. Ah, you want to cut off my head, eh? Well, 
take it and have done with it. I shall be satisfied, pro- 
vided be has his cut off as well.” 


CROCHARD’S CONFESSION. 


275 


“But he hasn’t even been arrested yet.” 

“Oh, it’s easy enough to catch him, sir. He must be 
anxious at not hearing from me, and I am sure he goes 
every day to the post-office to inquire if there are no let- 
ters yet for M. X. O. X. 88. I can write to him. Do you 
want me to do so ? I can tell him that I have once more 
missed it, and that I have been caught even, but that the 
police have found out nothing, and have set me free again. 
I’m sure the scamp will keep quiet after that, and all the 
police will have to do will be to go and arrest him at his 
lodgings.” 

The magistrate had allowed the prisoner to give free 
vent to his rage, knowing by experience how intensely 
criminals hate an accomplice who betrays them. And he 
was in hopes that Crocliard’s rage might suggest some new 
idea, or furnish him with new facts. However, on per- 
ceiving that he was not likely to gain much, he said : 

“Justice cannot stoop to such expedients.” And notic- 
ing how disappointed Crochard looked he added, “You 
had better try and recollect all you can. Have you for- 
gotten or concealed anything that might assist us in car- 
rying out this investigation?” 

“No, I think I have told you everything.” 

“You cannot furnish any additional evidence of Justin 
Chevassat’s complicity, of his efforts to tempt you to com- 
mit this crime, or of the forgery he committed in provid- 
ing a false set of papers for you ?” 

“ No ! Ah, he is a clever fellow, and leaves no trace 
behind him that could convict him. And yet if we could 
meet face to face I undertake, just by looking at him, to 
get the truth out of him somehow.” 

“You will meet face to face, I promise you.” 

The prisoner seemed amazed. 

“ Are you going to send for Chevassat ?” he asked, and on 
learning that, on the contrary, he was to be sent home to 
be tried there, a flash of joy darted from his eyes. 

He knew the voyage would not be a pleasankone, but the 
prospect of being tried in France was to his mind as good 
as an escape from capital punishment. Besides, he 
delighted in advance in the idea of seeing Chevassat in 
court, seated by his side as a fellow-prisoner. 

“Ah,” said he, “so you mean to send me home.” 

“Yes, on board the first State vessel that leaves Saigon.” 

The magistrate went to the table where the clerk was 
writing, and rapidly glanced over the long deposition to 
see if anything had been overlooked. At last he exclaimed : 


276 


CROCHAEB’S CONFESSION. 


“Now, give me as accurate a description of Justin Chev- 
assat as you can.” 

Crochard passed his hand repeatedly over his forehead, 
and then with his eyes staring into space, and his neck dis- 
tended as if he perceived a phantom, he replied : 

“Chevassat is a man of my age ; but he does not look 
more than seven or eight and twenty. That is what made 
me hesitate at first when I met him on the boulevard. He 
is a handsome fellow, tall, well built, and wearing all his 
beard. He looks clever ; he has soft eyes ; and his face 
inspires confidence at once.” 

“Ah, that’s Maxime all over,” exclaimed Daniel, and 
turning to Lefloch he added, “ Since my illness hasn’t some 
of my luggage been brought here from on board ship ?” 

“Yes, lieutenant, all of it.” 

“ Well, try and find a big red book with silver clasps. 
You have no doubt often seen me looking at it.” 

“Yes, lieutenant, and I know where it is.” And open- 
ing one of the trunks piled up in a corner of the room, he 
drew from it a photograph album, which upon a sign from 
Daniel he handed to the magistrate. 

“Please ask the prisoner,” said Daniel at the same time, 
“if among the sixty or seventy portraits in that book he 
can recognize any one of them ?” 

The album was handed to Crochard, who turned over 
leaf after leaf, till all of a sudden he cried out : 

“Here he is, Justin Chevassat ! Oh, that’s his face, I’m 
sure of it.” 

From his bed Daniel could see the photograph, and he 
immediately rejoined : 

“That is Maxime’s portrait.” 

After this decisive evidence there could be no longer 
any doubt about Justin Chevassat and Maxime de Brevan 
being one and the same person. The investigation was 
complete, as far as it could be carried on in Saigon, the 
remaining evidence had to be collected in Paris. The 
magistrate therefore directed the clerk to read over 
Crochard ’s statement, and the prisoner listened to the 
perusal without raising a single objection. But when he 
had signed it, and the gendarmes were about to handcuff 
him, prior to leading him back to jail, he asked leave to 
make an addition. The magistrate assented, and Cro- 
chard at once began : 

“I do not want to excuse myself, nor to pretend I’m 
innocent, but, on the other hand, I don’t like to seem 
worse than I really am.” He had assumed a very decided 


•WE TRIUMPH AT LAST !’ 


277 


position, and evidently aimed at imparting to his words 
an expression of coarse but perfect frankness. “ It was 
not in my power to do what I had undertaken to do. It 
never entered my head to kill the lieutenant treacher- 
ously. If I had been a brute he would no longer be here. 
For I might have done his business most effectively a dozen 
times, but I didn’t venture. I tried in vain to think of 
Chevassat’s big promises ; at the last moment my heart 
always failed me. The thing was too much for me. And 
the proof of it is, that I missed him ten yards off. The 
only time when I tried it really in earnest was in the little 
boat, because then I ran some risk ; it was like a duel, for 
my life was as much at stake as the lieutenant’s. I can 
swim as well as anybody, to be sure, but in a river like the 
Dong-Nai at night-time, and with such a current, no swim- 
mer can hold his own. The lieutenant got out of it, but 
I was very nearly drowned. I could not get on land again 
until I had beeen carried down two miles or more, and 
when I did get on shore I sank in the mud up to my hips. 
Now, I humbly beg the lieutenant’s pardon, and you shall 
see if I am going to let Chevassat escape.” 

Thereupon he held out his hands for the gyves with a 
theatrical gesture, and left the room. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

“ WE TRIUMPH AT LAST 1” 

In the meantime the long, trying scene had exhausted 
Daniel, and he lay panting on his bed. The surgeon and 
the lawyer withdrew, to let him have some rest. He 
certainly needed it, but how could he sleep with the fear- 
ful idea of Henriette being at the mercy of Justin Chev- 
assat, alias Maxime de Brevan, a forger, a former galley- 
slave, and the accomplice and friend of Crochard, sur- 
named Bagnolet ? To be sure he was pretty certain that 
Maxime de Brevan would not escape punishment. But 
what would be the use of vengeance now, when it was too 
late, when Henriette must have long since been forced to 
seek in suicide the only refuge from Brevan’s persecution. 
He had done the only thing that could be done. On recov- 
ering his reason after his terrible sufferings he had hast- 
ened to write to Henriette, begging her to take courage, 
and promising her that he would soon be near her. In this 
letter he had inclosed the sum of four thousand francs. 
It was on its way. But how long would it take to reach 


278 “WE TRIUMPH AT LAST !” 

her? Three or four months, perhaps even more. Would 
it reach her in time? Might it not be intercepted, like th§ 
others ? All these anxieties tortured Daniel, and made his 
situation intolerable. 

However, his convalescence pursued its usual course, 
and a fortnight after Crochard’s confession he could get 
up ; he spent the afternoon in an arm-chair, and was even 
able to take a few steps in his room. The next week he 
was able to get down into the garden of the hospital, and 
to walk about, leaning on Lefloch’s arm. And with his 
strength and health, hope also began to return, when, all 
of a sudden, two letters from Henriette rekindled the 
fever. In one the poor girl told him how she had lived so 
far on the money obtained from the sale of the little jew- 
elry she had taken with her, and expressed her intention 
of seeking employment of some sort in order to support 
herself. In the other, however, she wrote : 

“None of my efforts to procure work has so far succeeded. The 
future is getting darker and darker. I shall soon be without bread. 
Still I shall struggle on to the last extremity, were it only to defer our 
enemies’ triumph. Butf'Daniel, if you wish to see your Henriette 
again, come back; oh, pray, come back!” 

This letter drove Daniel to despair. What could he 
look forward to now? No doubt, to a final missive in 
which Henriette would tell him, “ It is all over — I am 
dying — farewell !” The thought almost maddened him. 
So he sent for the chief surgeon, showed him Henriette’s 
despairing appeal, and declared that he must start for 
France. 

“I am sure,” thought the old surgeon when he had read 
the letter, “ I am sure I should do the same if I were in 
this poor fellow’s place. But would such an act of impru- 
dence be of any use to him ? No, for he could not reach 
the mouth of the Dong-Nai alive. So it is my duty to keep 
him here, and that can be done, as he is still unable to go 
out alone, and Lefloch will obey me, I am sure, when I tell 
him that his master’s life depends upon his obedience.” 
However, as he knew it would never do to meet so decided 
a determination as Daniel’s by a flat refusal he replied, 
aloud, “Very well, then; let it be as you choose.” Only 
he came in again the same evening, and with an air of 
disappointment remarked, “It is all very well to talk of 
going, but there is one difficulty in the way of which we 
neither thought, and that is, there is no vessel going 
home.” 


“WE TRIUMPH AT LAST!” 


279 


“Really, doctor?” 

“Ah, my dear friend,” replied the old surgeon, boldly, 
“ do you think I could deceive you ?” 

Evidently Daniel thought him quite capable of doing so, 
but he took good care not to show his suspicions, resolv- 
ing to make other inquiries as soon as an opportunity 
offered. It came the very next morning. Two friends 
of his called to see him. He sent Lefloch out of the room 
on some pretext or other, and then begged them to go 
down to the port, and engage a passage for him — no, not 
for himself, but for his man, whom urgent business recalled 
to France. The two officers eagerly disappeared. They 
staid away three hours, and when they came back their 
answer was the same as the doctor’s. They declared they 
had made inquiries on all sides, and were quite sure there 
was not a single vessel in Saigon ready to sail for home. 
Ten other persons whom Daniel asked to do the same thing 
brought him the same answer. And yet that very week 
two ships sailed — one for Havre and the other for Bor- 
deaux. But the doorkeeper of the hospital and Lefloch 
were so well drilled that no visitor reached Daniel without 
having thoroughly learned his lesson. So thus he was 
kept quiet for a fortnight, but at the end of that time he 
declared he felt quite well enough to look out for a ship 
himself, and that if he could do uo better he should sail for 
Singapore, where he would certainly find a passage home. 
It would, of course, have been simple folly to try and 
detain a man who was so bent upon his purpose, and as 
his first visit to the port would have revealed to him the 
true state of things, the old surgeon preferred to make a 
clean breast of it. When he learned that he had missed 
two ships Daniel was at first naturally very much incensed. 
But the surgeon was prepared with his justification, and 
replied with an air of solemnity which he rarely assumed : 

u I have only obeyed my conscience. If I had let you set 
sail in your condition I should have virtually sent you to 
your grave, and have thus deprived Mile, de Ville-Handry 
of her last and only chance of salvation.” 

“But if I get there too late,” answered Daniel, “too late 
by a week or a day — don’t you think, doctor, that I shall, 
curse your prudence ? And who knows now when a ship 
will leave ?” 

“ When ? Why, in five days’ time, and that ship is the 
Saint Louis, a famous clipper, and so good a sailer that 
you will easily overtake the two big three-masters that 
have sailed before you.” 


280 


“WE TRIUMPH AT LAST !' 


Then offering his hand to Daniel, he added : 

“ Come, don’t blame an old friend who has done what he 
thought his duty.” 

Daniel was too painfully affected to pay much attention 
to the old surgeon’s conclusive and sensible reasons ; he 
only realized that his friends had taken advantage of his 
condition to keep him in the dark. Still he also felt that 
it would have been black ingratitude and foolish obstinacy 
to harbor the slightest resentment, so taking the proferred 
hand, and pressing it warmly’ he replied with genuine 
emotion : 

“Whatever the future may have in store for me, doctor, 
I shall never forget that I owe my life to your skill and 
devotion.” 

“I have attended you as I would have attended any one 
else,” retorted the surgeon, as usual concealing his true 
feelings under an affected brusqueness, “that’s my duty, 
and you need not trouble yourself about your gratitude. 
If any one owes me thanks it’s Mile, de Ville-Handry, and 
I beg you will remind her of it when she is your wife. 
And now be good enough to dismiss all these dismal ideas, 
and remember that you have only five days longer to 
tremble with impatience in this abominable country.” 

He spoke as though those five days were nothing, but 
they seemed an eternity to Daniel. He had soon made all 
his preparations for departure, and obtained a furlough 
for Lefloch, who was to go with him, and at noon the same 
day he was asking himself with terror how he should 
be able to employ all his remaining time. Fortunately, 
that very afternoon he was asked to go and see the magis- 
trate at the court-house. Daniel found the shrewd investi- 
gator greatly changed. A mail which had just arrived 
had brought him the news of his appointment to a judge- 
ship which he had long anxiously desired, and which 
would enable him to return to France. He meant to sail 
in a frigate which was to leave toward the end of the 
month, and in which Crochard also was to be sent home. 

“He hoped,” he said, “that his new appointment would 
enable him to sit in judgment on the case in which Daniel 
was interested, and that he should have Justin Chevassat, 
alias de Brevan, in the dock before him. It was in con- 
nection with the case that he had asked Daniel to call, for 
having learned from the chief surgeon that he would sail 
in a few days, he wished to intrust to him an important 
packet, which he must hand to the public prosecutor as 
soon as he reached Paris. This,” said he, “ is an additional 


b “WE TKIUMPH AT LAST !” 


281 


precaution we take to prevent Maxime de Bre^an from 
escaping us.” 

It was five o’clock when Daniel left the court-house, and 
on the little square in front he found the old surgeon 
waiting to take him off to dinner, and a game of whist in 
the evening. So when he undressed at night he said to 
himself, “After all the day has not been so very long.” 
But then there were four more to come. Obeying an 
invincible attraction he betook himself every day to the 
port where the Saint Louis was taking its cargo on board, 
and spent hour after hour watching the Chinese and Anna- 
mite stevedores as they lowered bale after bale into the 
hold. It seemed to him that they were abominably slow 
and lazy, and he constantly betook himself with some 
complaint or other to the little cafe on the wharf, where 
the captain of the Saint Louis was generally to be found v 

“Your men will never finish, captain, he would say. 
“You will never be ready by Sunday.” 

“Don’t be afraid, lieutenart,” the captain invariably 
replied, with his strong Marseilles accent. “ The Saint 
Louis, I tell you, beats the Indian mail in punctuality.” 
And, indeed, on Saturday, when Champcey went as uusal 
to the cafe, the captain exclaimed, “Well, what did I tell 
you? We are all ready. At five o’clock I shall get my 
mail at the post-office, and to-morrow morning we start. 
I was just going to send you word that you had better 
sleep on board.” 

That evening the officers of The Conquest gave Daniel a 
farewell dinner, and it was nearly midnight when, after 
having once more shaken hands with the old chief surgeon, 
he took possession of his state-room, one of the largest on 
board the Saint Louis, and in which two berths had been 
fitted up, so that in case of need Lefloch might be at hand 
to attend his master. At last, toward four o’clock in the 
morning, Daniel was roused by a noise of clanking chains, 
accompanied by the singing of sailors. He hastened on 
deck. The anchors were being weighed, and an hour 
afterward the Saint Louis sped down the Dong-Nai, 
impelled both by the wind and the rapid current. 

“Now,” said Daniel to Lefloch, “I shall judge, by the 
time it takes us to get home, if fortune is on my side.” 

Yes, fate at last declared for him. Never had the most 
favorable winds hastened a ship so swiftly home before. 
The Saint Louis was a first-class sailer, and the captain, 
stimulated by the presence of a lieutenant of the fleet, 
exacted the utmost from his ship, so that on the seven- 


282 


“WE TEIUMPH AT LAST !’ 


teenth day after leaving Saigon, on a fine winter after- 
noon, Daniel could see the hills above Marseilles rising 
from the blue waters of the Mediterranean. He was reach- 
ing the end, both of his voyage and his anxiety. Yet two 
days more, and he would be in Paris, and his fate would 
be irrevocably sealed. But would they let him go on 
shore that evening ? He trembled as he thought of all the 
formalities which have to be observed when a ship arrives 
in port. The quarantine authorities might raise difficul- 
ties, and cause a fresh delay. Standing by the captain’s 
side, he was watching the masts, loaded with all the can- 
vas they could carry, when a cry from the lookout man 
attracted his attention. The seaman reported that a small 
boat was making signals of distress, at two ship’s lengths 
on the starboard side. The captain and Daniel exchanged 
glances of disappointment. The slightest delay at this 
moment deprived them of all hope of going on shore that 
night. And who could tell how long it would take them 
to rescue the men on board that boat? 

“Well, never mind!” said Daniel. “We have to do 
it.” 

“I wish they were in paradise,” swore the captain. 
Nevertheless, he had everything done to slacken speed, 
and then tacked so as to approach the little boat. It was 
a difficult and tedious maneuver, but at last after half an 
hour’s work the seamen of the Saint Louis managed to 
throw a rope into the skiff. It carried two men, who at 
once boarded the clipper. One of them was a young sailor, 
and the other an individual of fifty or thereabouts, attired 
very much like a country gentleman. He seemed ill at 
ease, and glanced round in all directions. However, while 
they were hoisting themselves up by the man-rope the 
captain of the Saint Louis had had time to examine their 
boat, and to see that it was in good condition, and every- 
thing in it in perfect order. Crimson with wrath, he 
caught the young sailor by his collar, and shaking him 
roughly, exclaimed, with a formidable oath : 

“ Are you making fun of me ? What wretched joke have 
you been playing?” 

Like the captain, the seamen of the Saint Louis had also 
perceived that nothing in the condition of the skiff war- 
ranted the signals of distress which had excited their sym- 
pathy ; and they felt very indignant at what they consid- 
ered a stupid mystification. They surrounded the sailor 
with a threatening air, while he struggled in the captain’s 
hand, and cried, in his Marseilles jargon : 


“WE TRIUMPH AT LAST !’ 


283 


“ Let go ! You’re throttling me. It is not my fault. It 
was the gentleman there, who hired my boat for a sail. I 
wouldn’t make the signal, but ” 

However, the poor fellow would probably have experi- 
enced some very rough treatment, if the “gentleman” he 
referred to had not hastened forward, exclaiming : 

“Let that poor boy go. I am the only one to blame.” 

The enraged captain pushed the speaker back, and giving 
him a savage look retorted : 

“ Ah, so it was you who dared ” 

“ Yes, I did. But I had my reasons. This is surely the 
Saint Louis, coming from Saigon?”. 

“ Yes.' What next?” 

“You have on board Lieut. Champcey of the navy?” 

Daniel, who had been a silent witness of the scene, now 
stepped forward, greatly puzzled. 

“1 am Lieut. Champcey, sir,” he said. “What do you 
desire ?” 

But instead of replying, the “gentleman” raised his 
hands to heaven in a perfect ecstasy of joy, and mur- 
mured : 

“We triumph at last 1” Then turning to Daniel and the 
captain, he said, — “But come, gentlemen come! I must 
explain my conduct ; and we must be alone for what I 
have to tell you.” 

When he first appeared on deck, the queer old customer 
had seemed very pale, as if he had just had an attack of 
sea-sickness, -but now he had apparently quite recovered, 
and although the vessel rolled considerably he followed 
the captain and Daniel to the quarter-deck with a firm step. 

“ Could I be here if I hadn’t used a stratagem ?” he asked 
as soon as they were alone. “ Evidently not. And yet I 
had the most powerful motive in wishing to board the Saint 
Louis before she entered port, so I didn’t hesitate.” Then 
drawing from his pocket a folded sheet of paper he added : 
“Here is my apology, Lieut. Champcey; see if it is 
sufficient.” 

Utterly amazed, the young officer took the paper and 
read : 

“I am saved, Daniel; and I owe my life to the man who will hand 
you this. I shall also owe him the joy of seeing you again. Confide 
in him as you would in your best and most devoted friend; and, I be- 
seech you, do not hesitate to follow his advice literally, 

“Henriette. ’ 

Daniel turned deadly pale, and tottered. This unex- 
pected happiness overcame him. 


28 4 , 


“WE TRIUMPH AT LAST 1” 


“Then — it is true — she is alive,” he stammered. 

“She is at my sister’s house, safe from all danger.” 

“And you, sir, you saved her?” 

“I did.” 

Prompt like thought, Daniel grasped the old man’s 
hands, and exclaimed : 

“Never, sir, never, whatever may happen, can I thank 
you enough. But ^remember, you can count upon Lieut. 
Champcey under all circumstances, and on all occasions.” 

The queer old fellow’s lips curved into a strange smile, 
and shaking his head he said : 

“ Before long I shall remind you of your promise, lieu- 
tenant. ” 

Standing between the two men the astonished captain of 
the Saint Louis looked alternately at both of them, listen- 
ing without understanding, and imagining marvelous 
things. The only point he mastered was, that his pres- 
ence was, to say the least, not useful.” 

“Well,” said he to Daniel, “if this was done to oblige 
you, lieutenant, I suppose we can’t blame this gentleman 
for the ugly trick he played us.” 

“Blame him? Oh, certainly not.” 

“Then I’ll leave you. I believe I treated the sailor 
who brought him rather roughly, but I’ll order him a glass 
of brandy, which will set him right again.” 

With these words the captain discreetly withdrew. 

“You may perhaps say, M. Champcey,” said the bearer 
of Henriette’s letter, “that it would have been much more 
simple to wait for you in port, and hand you my note of 
introduction there. But in point of fact, it would have 
been most imprudent. Now I heard of your coming home 
at the Ministry of Marine, and others may have heard of 
it as well. So as soon as the Saint Louis was signaled in 
Marseilles a spy, no doubt, came down to the port, intend- 
ing to follow and watch you, and report everything you 
may do.” 

“ What does it matter?” 

“Ah, don’t say that, sir. If our enemies hear of our 
meeting, you see — if they only find out that we have con- 
versed together — everything would be lost. They would 
realize the danger that threatens them, and escape.” 

Daniel could hardly trust his ears. 

“Our enemies?” he asked, emphasizing the word “our.” 

“Yes, I mean our enemies — Sarah Brandon, Countess de 
Ville-Handry, Maxime de Brevan, Thomas Elgin, and 
Mrs. Brian. Do you know that for five years I have only 


“WE TRIUMPH AT LAST!” 


286 


lived in hopes of being able to punish them. Yes, for five 
years I have followed them with the perseverance of an 
Indian patiently, incessantly, undermining each inch of 
ground beneath their steps. And they suspect nothing. 
I doubt w r hether they are aware of my existence. Besides, 
even if they knew I lived they would scarcely care, for 
they have pushed me so far down into the mud that they 
cannot imagine I could ever rise again even to their level. 
They triumph with impunity ; they boast of their unpun- 
ished wickedness, and think they are strong and safe from 
all attacks, because they have the prestige and power of 
gold. And yet their hour is nigh. I, who have been com- 
pelled to hide, and subsist on my daily labor— I have 
attained my end. Everything is ready ; and I have only 
to touch the proud fabric of their crimes for it to fall upon 
them, and crush them all beneath its ruins. Ah, if I could 
see them only suffer one-fourth of what they have made 
me suffer, I should die content.” 

Ilenrietie’s messenger seemed to have grown a foot 
taller ; hatred distorted his previously placid face ; his 
voice trembled with rage, and his yellow eyes shone with 
feverish passion. 

Daniel wondered what the people who had sworn to 
ruin himself and Henriette could have done to this queer- 
looking individual in the bright-flowered waistcoat and 
high-collared coat. 

u But who are you, sir ?” he asked. 

“Who am I ?” But he paused, and dropping his head and 
lowering his voice, he simply said, “I am Antoine Ravi- 
net, dealer in curiosities.” 

In the meantime the clipper had been making way rap- 
idly. The white country-houses on the high bluffs amid 
the pine-groves were already easily distinguished, and the 
outlines of the Chateau d’lf rose clearly against the deep 
blue sky. 

u We are getting very near,” exclaimed Papa Ravinet, 
“ and I must return to my boat. I did not come out so far 
for any one to see me board the Saint Louis.” And when 
Daniel offered him his state-room as a place of concealment 
he replied, “No, no. I must go back to Paris by rail to- 
night. I came down for the sole purpose of telling you 
this — Mile. Henriette is at my sister’s house, but you must 
take care not to come there. Neither Sarah nor Brevan 
know what has become of her ; they think she has thrown 
herself into the river, and this conviction is oui safety and 


286 


“WE SHALL BE AVENGED. 5 


strength. As they will certainly have you watched, the 
slightest imprudence might betray us.” 

“But I must see Henriette, sir.” 

“ Certainly, and I have found the means for it. Instead 
of going to your former lodgings go to the Hotel du 
Louvre. I will arrange that my sister and Mile, de Ville- 
Handry shall take rooms there before you reach Paris, 
and you may be sure to have news in less than a quarter 
of an hour after your arrival. But, heavens, how near we 
are ! I must make haste.” 

At Daniel’s request the ship lay by long enough to allow 
Papa Ravi net and his sailor to get back into their boat 
again. When they were safely stowed away, and just as 
they cast off the man-rope, the old dealer called to Daniel : 

“We shall soon see you. Rely upon me. To-night Mile. 
Henriette shall have a telegram.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

“we shall be avenged.” 

While Papa Ravinet, standing on the deck of the Saint 
Louis, was pressing Daniel’s hand, and bidding him fare- 
well, there were two poor women in Paris praying and 
watching with breathless anxiety — Mme. Bertolle, the old 
dealer’s sister, and Henriette, Count de Ville-Handry’s 
daughter. Papa Ravinet’ s conduct on the previous night 
had been so extraordinary that they were both lost in con- 
jecture as to what was going to happen. Was it really 
true that Daniel was returning to France ? When might 
they expect news — a telegram from the old dealer — and 
how long would it take him to reach Marseilles ? Neither 
of them were acquainted with the route from Paris to the 
south of France. They were ignorant of the distances, 
the names of the stations, and even of most of the large 
towns through which the railroad passes. 

“We must try and get a railway-guide,” said Mme. Ber- 
tolle at last, just after they made a pretense at dining. 
And, quite -proud of her happy thought, she at once went 
down stairs, hurried to the nearest library, and soon reap- 
peared triumphantly flourishing a yellow pamphlet. 
“Now we shall see it all, my dear child,” she exclaimed. 
Then, placing the guide on the table-cloth between them, 
they looked for the page giving the trains from Paris to 
Lyons and Marseilles. The express which Papa Ravinet 


“WE SHALL BE AVENGED.” 


287 


was to have taken was next referred to, and they delighted 
in counting up how swiftly the train traveled, and noting 
all the stations where it stopped. Then, when the table 
was cleared, instead of going industriously to work as 
usual, they kept constantly glancing at the clock, and 
after consulting the guide, remarked to each other, “ He is 
at Monterey now.” “He must be beyond Sens.” “He 
will soon be at Tonnerre.” 

A childish satisfaction, no doubt, and a very idle occu- 
pation. But who of us has not, at least once in his life, 
derived a wonderful pleasure, or perhaps unspeakable 
relief from impatience or even grief, by thus following 
through space some loved one who was hastening away, 
or coming home? Toward midnight, however, the old 
lady remarked that it was getting late, and that it would 
be best to go to bed. 

“ Do you think you will sleep, madam ?” asked Henriette, 
surprised. 

“ No, my child, but ” 

“Oh, I, for my part — I couldn’t sleep. The work on 
which we were busy to-day is very pressing, you say ; sup- 
pose we finish it?” 

“Well, let us sit up, then,” said the widow. 

The poor women, although more or less reduced to con- 
jectures by Papa Ravinet’s laconic answers, knew well 
enough that some great event was in preparation, some- 
thing unexpected, and yet decisive. What it was they 
did not know, but they understood, or rather felt, that 
Daniel’s return would totally change the aspect of affairs. 
But would Daniel really come ? 

“If he does come,” said Henriette, “why did they only 
the other day tell me at the Ministry of Marine that he was 
not coming ? Then again why should he come home in a 
merchant-vessel, and not on board his frigate ?” 

“Your letters have probably reached him at last,” 
explained the old lady, “ and as soon as he received them 
he came home.” 

Gradually, however, after having exhausted all conject- 
ures, and discussed all contingencies, Henriette became 
silent. When it struck half-past three she said once more, 
“Ah, M. Ravinet is at the Lyons station now.” Then her 
hand became less and less active in drawing the worsted, 
her head swayed from side to side, and her eyelids low- 
ered unconsciously. Mine. Bertolle then advised her to 
retire, and this time she did not refuse. 

It was past ten o’clock when she awoke, and upon enter- 


288 


“WE SHALL BE AVENGED. 


ing the sitting-room the widow greeted her with the 
exclamation : 

“My brother is at last reaching Marseilles.” 

“Ah, then it will not be long before we have news,” 
replied Henriette. 

But there are times when we think electricity the slow- 
est of messengers. At two o’clock in the afternoon nothing 
had arrived, and the poor women were beginning to 
accuse the old dealer of having forgotten them, when, at 
last, there came a ring at the bell. It was, indeed, the 
telegraph messenger with his black leather pouch. The 
old lady signed her receipt with marvelous promptness, 
and tearing the envelope open she hastily read : 


“Marseilles, 12.40 A. M. ‘Saint Louis’ signalled by telegraph this 
morning. Will be in to-night. I shall hire boat to go and meet her, 
provided Champcey is on board. Another telegram this evening. 

“Ravinet.” 

“But this does not tell us anything,” exclaimed Henri- 
ette, terribly disappointed. “Just see, madam, your brother 
is not even sure whether M. Champcey is on board the 
Saint Louis.” 

Perhaps Mme. Bertolle also was a little disappointed, 
but at all events she was not the person to show it. 

“ Well, what did you expect, dear child ? Antoine has 
only been an hour or two in Marseilles ; how do you think 
he can know? We must wait till the evening. It is only 
a matter of a few hours.” 

She said this very quietly, but all who have ever under 
gone the anguish of expectation know how it grows more 
and more intolerable as the decisive moment approaches. 
Strenuously as the old lady endeavored to control her 
excitement she could not long conceal the nervous fever 
which was consuming her. Ten times during the after- 
noon she opened the window, to look — what for? She 
could not have told herself, for she well knew nothing 
could come as yet. At night she could not stay in any one 
place. She tried in vain to work at her embroidery ; her 
fingers refused to do their duty. At last, at ten minutes 
past nine, the telegraph man appeared again, as impassive 
as ever. This time it was Henriette who took hold of the 
dispatch, and before opening it she endured "half a minute’s 
fearful suspense, as if realizing that the paper contained 
the secret of her fate. Then, with a sudden impulse, she 
tore the envelope open and read, almost at a glance : 


*‘WE SHALL BE AVENGED. 


289 


“Marseilles, 6.45 P. M. I have seen Champcey. All well; de- 
voted to Hbnriette. Beturn this evening. Will be in Paris to-mor- 
row evening at seven o’clock. Prepare your trunks as if you were to 
start on a month’s journey immediately after my return. All is going 
well.” 

Pale as death, and trembling like a leaf, but with parted 
lips and bright eyes, Henriette sunk on to a chair. Up to 
this moment she had doubted everything. Up to this hour 
until she held the proof in her hand, she had not allowed 
herself to hope. Such intense happiness seems impossible 
to the miserable. But now she stammered out, “ Daniel 
is in France ! Daniel ! Nothing more to fear ; the future 
is ours. I am safe now.” But people do not die of joy, 
and when she had recovered her equanimity Henriette 
realized how cruel the incoherent phrases that had escaped 
her in her excitement must have seemed to the old dealer’s 
sister. Rising with a start, and grasping Mine. Bertolle’s 
hands, she said to her, “ Good heavens ! what am I say- 
ing. Ah, you will pardon me, madam, I am sure, but 
I feel as if I did not know what I am doing. Safe ! I owe 
it to you and your brother if I am safe. Had it not been 
for you, Daniel would have found nothing of me but a 
cross at the cemetery, and a name stained and destroyed 
by infamous slander.” 

The old lady did not hear a word. She had picked up 
the dispatch and read it, and, overcome by its contents, 
had sat down near the fire-place, utterly insensible to the 
outside world. A look of. bitter hatred distorted her usu- 
ally calm and gentle features, and, in a hoarse voice, she 
repeatedly muttered through her clenched teeth : 

“ We shall be avenged.” 

Henriette knew already that the old dealer and his sister 
hated her Enemies, Sarah Brandon and Maxime de Brevan, 
but she had never yet realized how intense that hatred 
was, at least on Mme. Bertolle’s side. What had caused 
it? This she could not fathom. It was evident enough 
that Papa Ravinet was not the first comer. Albeit ill-bred 
and coarse in Rue de la Grange, amid the thousand articles 
of his trade, he became a very different man as soon as he 
reached his sister’s house. And as regards the Widow 
Bertolle, she was evidently a woman of superior intellect 
and education. How had they both been reduced to these 
extremely modest circumstances ? By reverses of fortune? 
That accounted for everything, but it explained nothing. 
Such were Henriette’s thoughts when the old lady roused 
her from her meditations. 


290 


“WE SHALL BE AVENGED. 


“You saw, my dear child,” said she, “that my brother 
wishes us to be ready to set out on a long journey as soon 
as he comes home. ” 

“Yes, madam, and I am quite astonished at it.” 

“ I can understand that, but although I know no more 
than you do of my brother’s intentions I know he does 
nothing without a purpose. We ought, therefore, in prud- 
ence, to comply with his wishes.” 

Accordingly, they made their arrangements, and the 
next day Mme. Bertolle went out to purchase whatever 
was necessary — a couple of ready-made dresses for Hen- 
riette, with shoes and extra linen. Toward five o’clock 
in the afternoon all preparations were completed, and 
everything was carefully stowed away in three large 
trunks. According to Papa Ravinet’s telegram, they had 
only some two hours more to wait, three hours at the 
worst. Still they were out of their reckoning, for it 
struck half-past eight before the worthy fellow arrived, 
evidently broken down by the long and rapid journey he 
had just made. 

“At last!” exclaimed Mme. Bertolle. “We hardly 
expected you any longer to-night.” 

“ Oh, my dear sister ! don’t you think I suffered when I 
thought of your impatience,” replied he. “But it was 
absolutely necessary I should show myself in the Rue de 
la Grange.” 

“You have seen Mme. Chevassat?” 

“ I have just come from her. She is quite at her ease. 
I am sure she is convinced that Mile, de Ville-Handry has 
killed herself, for she goes religiously every morning to 
the morgue.” 

Henriette shuddered. 

“ And M. de Brevan ?” she asked. 

Papa Ravinet looked worried. 

“Ah, I don’t feel so safe there,” he replied. “The man 
I left in charge of him has foolishly lost sight of him.” 
Then noticing the trunks, he resumed, “ But I am talking, 
and time flies. You are ready, I see. Let us go. I have 
a cab at the door. We can talk on the way.” As he spoke 
he observed a look of reluctance on Henriette’s face, and 
therefore added, with a kindly smile, “You need not fear 
anything, Mile. Henriette ; we are not going away from 
M. Champcey, far from it. But, you see, he could not 
have come here twice without betraying the secret of your 
existence.” 

“ Where are we going ?” asked Mme. Bertolle. 


“WE SHALL BE AVENGED. 


291 


“ To the Hotel du Louvre, dear sister, where you will 
take rooms for Mme. and Mile. Bertolle. Be calm ; my 
plans are laid.” Thereupon he ran out on to the landing 
to call the concierge to help him take the trunks down 
stairs. 

Although the maneuvers required by Papa Ravinet’s 
appearance on board the Saint Louis had taken up but 
comparatively little time, the delay had been long enough 
to prevent the ship from going through all the formalities 
that same evening. She had therefore to drop anchor at 
some distance from the port, to the great disgust of the 
crew, who saw Marseilles all ablaze before them, and could 
count the wine-shops, and hear the songs of the seamen on 
shore as they walked along the quays in merry bands. 
The least unhappy of all on board happened, for once in a 
way, to be Daniel. His terrible excitement had given way 
to perfect calm. His strained nerves had relaxed, and he 
felt the delight of a man who can at last throw down the 
heavy burden he has so long borne on his shoulders. Papa 
Ravinet had given him no particulars, but he did not 
regret it — in fact, he hardly noticed it. He knew posi- 
tively that Henriette was alive ; that she was in safety, 
and still loved him. That sufficed. “Well, lieutenant,” 
said Leflocl*, delighted at his master’s joy, “ didn’t I tell 
you so ? Good wind during the passage always brings good 
news upon landing.” 

That night, for the first time since Daniel had heard of 
the Count de Ville-Handry’s marriage, he slept with the 
sweet sleep that hope imparts. He was only roused by 
the arrival of the officials in the quarantine boat, and 
when he came on deck he found there was nothing more 
to prevent his going on shore. The clocks of Marseilles 
were just striking noon when, followed by his faithful 
man, he at last set his foot once more on the soil of France, 
and as he remembered how a vile plot had long ago 
driven him from home, his eyes flashed fire and his fists 
clenched. “ Here I am, ” he seemed to say, “ and my venge- 
ance will be terrible.” However, neither his joy nor his 
excitement led him to forget Papa Ravinet’s apprehen- 
sions, eccentric and exaggerated as he thought them. It 
seemed to him improbable that a spy should be waiting 
on the quay, in the midst of the noisy bustling crowd, 
intending to follow his track and report his minutest 
actions, and yet he determined to verify his informant’s 
surmise without delay. Accordingly, instead of simply 
following the quay, turning up the Canebiere, and taking 


292 


“WE SHALL BE AVENGED. 1 


the first street on the right leading to the Hotel du Lux- 
embourg, he purposely strolled down several narrow and 
less frequented thoroughfares, turning at times to see if 
he were being followed. On reaching the hotel he had 
to acknowledge that the old dealer had been right in his 
surmises, for a tall, dark-complexioned, unprepossessing 
looking fellow had followed the same circuitous route as 
himself, invariably keeping some thirty yards or so in 
the rear. As this individual calmly sauntered along with 
his hands in his pockets, he hardly suspected the danger 
he incurred by practicing his profession within reach of 
Lefloch. The idea of being tracked fairly maddened the 
worthy tar, and he repeatedly proposed ‘‘running foul” of 
the spy, and settling his account. “ I can do it in a sec- 
ond,” he assured his master. “I have only to go up to 
him, catch him by the necktie, give him a couple of twists, 
and then — good-night. He won’t track anybody again.” 

Daniel had to exercise all his authority to prevent 
Lefloch from carrying out this plan, and lie found it still 
harder to show his attendant how necessary it was that 
the scamp should not suspect that he had been detected. 
“Besides,” he added, “it is not yet proved that we are 
really being watched ; it may merely be a curious coinci- 
dence.” 

“That maybe so,” growled Lefloch, but doubt was no 
longer possible, when just before dinner, as they looked 
out of the window, they espied the same man sauntering 
up and down in front of the hotel. At night they again 
met him at the railway station, and he took the same 
express train as themselves for Paris. They recognized 
him once more in the refreshment room at Lyons. And 
he was the first person they percei\ ed as they alighted at 
the Paris terminus. 

However, Daniel did not worry himself about the man. 
His one thought was that he was each minute getting 
nearer and nearer to Henriette. Too impatient to wait for 
his trunks, he left Lefloch in charge, and jumped into a 
cab, promising the driver a napoleon if he would take 
him as fast as possible to the Hotel du Louvre. When 
such remuneration is offered the lean horses of the Paris 
cabs contrive to equal an English thoroughbred, so that 
three quarters of an hour later Daniel was already duly 
installed in his room at the hotel. But now a thousand 
anxious doubts assailed him. Had he understood Papa 
Ravinet correctly ? Had the worthy man given him the 
right directions? Might they not, excited as they both 


DELIRIOUS WITH JOY. 


293 


were, have easily made a mistake? “In less than a 
quarter of an hour after your arrival you shall have news.” 
So had Papa Ravinet spoken to Daniel. Less than a 
quarter of an hour ! It seemed to Daniel as if he had been 
an eternity in this room, and in his impatience he was 
almost breaking out into imprecations, when there came a 
knock at the door. 

“ Come in !” he cried. 

A waiter appeared, and handed him a visiting-card, on 
which was written, “Mme. Bertolle, third floor, No. 55.” 
And as the fellow did not instantly retreat Daniel repeated 
almost furiously, “Didn’t I tell you it was all right?” He 
did not wish the man to witness his excitement, the most 
intense excitement he had ever experienced. His hands 
shook, he felt a burning sensation in his throat, and his 
knees knocked together. Glancing at himself in the mir- 
ror he was startled to see how pale he looked. “Ami 
going to be taken ill ?” he thought. And perceiving on 
the table a decanter full of water he filled a large glass, 
and drank it at one draught. Then feeling somewhat 
better, he hastily left the room. But once outside he was 
so overcome that despite the directions hung up at every 
turn he soon lost his way in the long passages and inter- 
minable staircases, and had finally to ask an attendant, 
who, pointing out a door which he had passed fully half a 
dozen times already, exclaimed : 

“That’s No. 55.” 

Daniel knocked gently, and the door at once opened, as 
if somebody had been standing behind it, ready to turn the 
handle. As he entered almost tottering, he saw, as through 
a mist, Papa Ravinet and an old lady standing on his right 
hand side, and farther back, in front of him, near the 
window, the loved one of his heart. Uttering a cry he 
sprang forward, but Henriette as quickly bounded to meet 
him, throwing both arms around his neck, and leaning 
upon his chest, sobbing and stammering : 

“ Daniel, Daniel ! at last !” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

DELIRIOUS WITH JOY. 

They remained thus for a long time, clasped in a close 
embrace, overcome with happiness, unable as yet to 
believe in the reality for which they had sighed so long, 


294 


DELIRIOUS WITH JOY. 


unable to speak a word, but laughing and weeping in one 
breatj^. 

“ How they love each other !” whispered Mme. Bertolle 
in her brother’s ear ; “ the poor young people !” 

And big tears rolled down her cheeks, while the old 
dealer, not less touched, but showing his emotion differ- 
ently, clenched his fists, and retorted : 

“All right, all right ! Those wretches will^have to pay 
for everything. 

In the meantime Daniel gradually mastered his emotion, 
and leading Henriette to an arm-chair beside the fire-place 
he sat down in front of her, took her hands in his own, 
and asked her to give him a faithful account of the two 
terrible years which had just elapsed. She had to 
acquaint him with everything — her humiliations at home, 
the insults and slanders she had endured, her father’s 
incomprehensible blindness and infatuation, her step- 
mother’s provocations, and Sir Tom’s horrible attentions. 
In short, she had to describe in every detail the abomina- 
ble plot formed to drive her from home, and compel her to 
abandon herself to Maxime de Brevan. 

When she began to speak of Mme. Chevassat’s villainy 
Daniel interrupted her in a state of great excitement. 

“ What !” asked he, “ was the doorkeeper in the Rue de 
la Grange named Chevassat ?” 

“Yes — why?” asked Henriette. 

“ Because Brevan’s real name is Justin Chevassat.” 

“ Ah, you know that ?” exclaimed Papa Ravinet. 

“ I learned it three months ago, and 1 also know that my 
friend, proud Monsieur Maxime de Brevan, who has been 
received in the most aristocratic salons of Paris, was once 
merely a vulgar convict condemned for forgery.” 

“Then,” stammered Henriette, “this scoundrel was ” 

“Chevassat’s son; yes,” finished Mme. Bertolle. 

The poor girl was quite overcome by this discovery. 

“How did you learn that?” asked Ravinet of Daniel. 

“Through the man my friend Maxime hired to murder 
me.” 

“Ah, I thought the coward would try to get you out of 
the way, Daniel,” cried Henriette. “I wrote to you to be 
careful.” 

“And I received your letter* my darling, but unfortu- 
nately too late. After having missed me twice the mur- 
derer fired at me, and when your letter came I was in my 
bed almost dying.” 


DELIRIOUS WITH JOY. 


295 


“What has become of the murderer?” asked Papa 
Ravinet. 

“He was arrested, and confessed, thanks to the astonish- 
ing skill of the magistrate who carried on the investiga- 
tion.” 

“ What has become of him ?” 

“ He has now left Saigon. They have sent him home to 
be tried here.” 

“ And Brevan ?” 

“ I am surprised he has not yet been arrested. The 
papers in the case were sent to Paris by a vessel which 
started a fortnight before I did. To be sure, the Saint 
Louis may have got ahead of her. At all events, I have 
in my keeping a letter to the Public Prosecutor.” 

Papa Ravinet seemed almost delirious with joy. He 
gesticulated like a madman, and laughed hysterically as 
he exclaimed : 

“ I shall see Brevan on the scaffold ! Yes, I shall !” 

From that moment there was an end of all logical 
sequence in the conversation. Questions followed and 
crossed without order or connection. Answers came at 
hap-hazard. Each one wanted to be heard, and at times 
all spoke at once. Thus the explanations which, by a 
little management, might have been exchanged in 
twenty minutes, took up more than two hours. At 
last, by dint of great efforts, it became possible to ascer- 
tain the sum total of the various information imparted 
by Papa Ravinet, Daniel, and Henriette. The truth 
began to disengage itself from chaos, and the plot 
formed by Sarah Brandon and her accomplices appeared 
in all its infamy. A plan of striking simplicity, no 
doubt, and the success of which seemed to have hung 
upon a hair. If on Christmas night the old dealer, instead 
of going down by the back stairs had taken the front 
staircase he would never have heard Henriette’s dying 
groans, and the poor child would have been lost. If Oro- 
chard’s bullet had wounded Daniel in the slightest degree 
nearer the heart he would have been killed. 

And still the old dealer was not quite satisfied. He 
looked as if he thought certain points required fuller 
explanation. 

“Look here‘ M. Champcey,” he began at last, “ the more 
I think of it the more I am convinced that Sarah Brandon 
had nothing to do with those attempts to murder you. Her 
perversity is too scientific to employ such means, which 
always leave traces behind, and finally conduct to a court 


296 


DELIRIOUS WITH JOY. 


of justice. She always acts alone, when her mind is made 
up, and her accomplices aid her unconsciously, so that 
they can never betray her.” 

“ M. de Brevan told me the same thing,” observed Daniel. 

“However,” continued Papa Ravinet, “that man Cro- 
chard certainly was employed to kill you. But could 
Brevan have done so without Sarah’s knowledge, and per- 
haps even contrary to her wishes ?” 

“That’s possible, but why should he have done so?” 

“To secure your fortune,” said Henriette. 

“That’s one explanation,” replied Papa Ravinet, with a 
shrewd look. “I don’t say no to it, but it’s not the true 
one yet. Murder is so dangerous an expedient that even 
the boldest criminals only resort to it at the last extremity, 
and generally very much against their inclination. 
Couldn’t Brevan have possessed himself of M. Champcey’s 
property without murdering him ? Of course he could. 
So we must look for another motive. You may say that 
fear drove him to it. But no, for when he engaged Cro- 
chard he could scarcely foresee all the infamy he would 
have to resort to during the succeeding: year. Believe my 
experience, it seems to me that M. Chamocey’s murder was 
planned very hurriedly and awkwardly, under the influ- 
ence of passion or violent hatred, or perhaps ” He 

paused abruptly, and seemed to reflect and deliberate. 
Then all of a sudden, looking strangely at Daniel, he asked 
him, “ Could the Countess Sarah be in lOve with you, M. 
Champcey ?” 

Daniel flushed crimson. He had not forgotten that 
fatal evening, when, for a moment, he had held Sarah 
Brandon in his arms, and the intoxicating delirium of that 
moment had left in his heart a bitter persistent pang of 
remorse. He had never dared to confess to Henriette that 
Sarah had actually come to his rooms alone. And even 
to-night, while describing his passage out, and his advent- 
ures at Saigon, he had not said a word of the letters writ- 
ten to him by the countess. 

“Sarah Brandon in love with me ?” he stammered. “What 
an idea !” 

But he could not tell a falsehood, and Henriette would 
not have been a woman if she had not noticed his embar- 
rassment. 

“Why not?” she asked. And looking fixedly at Daniel, 
she continued, “That wretched woman impudently boasted 
to my face that she loved you, and more than that, she 
swore that you had loved her as well, and were still in 


DELIRIOUS WITH JOY. 


297 


love with her. She laughed at me contemptuously, telling 
me that she had it in her power to make you do anything 
she chose, and offering to show me your letters. ” She 
paused for a moment, and averting her head, added, with 
a great effort, “ Finally, Sir Thomas Elgin assured me that 
Sarah Brandon had been your mistress, and that her mar- 
riage with my father only took place in consequence of a 
quarrel between you.” 

Daniel had listened, trembling with indignation. 

“ And you could believe that slander !” he cried. “ Oh, 
no, no ! tell me that there is no need for me to justify 
myself.” Then turning to Papa Ravinet he said, u Sup- 
pose we admit, for a moment, that she might have been in 
love, as you say, what would that prove ?” 

The cunning old dealer’s yellow eyes sparkled with 
malicious delight and satisfaction. 

u Ah, you wouldn’t ask me that if you knew Sarah Bran- 
don’s antecedents as well as I do. Ask my sister about her 
and Maxime de Brevan, and she will tell you why I look 
upon that apparently trifling circumstance as so very 
important.” 

Mine. Bertolle nodded assent, and Papa Ravinet con- 
tinued : 

“ Excuse me, M. Champcey, if I insist, and especially if 
I do so in Mile. Henriette’s presence, but our interest, I 
might ^almost say our safety, requires it. Maxime de 
Brevan is caught, to be sure, but he is only a vulgar 
criminal, and as yet we have neither caught Thomas Elgin 
nor Mrs. Brian, who are far more formidable, nor, above 
all, Sarah Brandon, who is a thousand times more wicked 
and guilty than all the others. You will tell me that we 
have ninety-nine chances out of a hundred on our side, 
maybe. But a single slight mistake may lead us alto- 
gether astray, and then there is an end to all our hopes, 
and these fiends would triumph after all.” 

Daniel realized that the old dealer was right, and so, 
without hesitating any longer, but looking stealthily at 
Henriette, he replied : 

“Since that is the case I won’t conceal from you that the 
Countess Sarah has written me a dozen letters of at least 
an extraordinary nature.” 

u You have kept them, I hope ?” 

“Yes, they are all in one of my trunks.” 

Papa Ravinet was evidently much embarrassed, but at 
last he said : 


298 


DELIRIOUS WITH JOY. 


“ Ah, if I might dare ? But no ; it would, perhaps, be 
asking too much to beg you to let me see them ?” 

He did not know how ready Daniel was to grant the 
request. As he was now desirous of acquainting Henriette 
with everything, it was as well that she should read these 
letters ; on perusing them she would perceive that if the 
countess had frequently written to him he on his side had 
never returned an answer. 

“You can never ask too much, M. Ravinet,” he replied. 
“My servant Lefloch ftiust have arrived by this time with 
the trunks, and if you will give me time to go down to my 
room you shall have the letters at once. ” 

He was on the point of leaving when the old dealer held 
him back, exclaiming : 

“You forget the man who has been following you from 
Marseilles. Wait till my sister has made sure that nobody 
is watching outside.” 

Mme. Bertolle at once left the room, but she noticed 
nothing suspicious, finding all the passages silent and 
deserted. The spy had probably gone to make his report 
to his employers. Accordingly, Daniel promptly went 
down stairs, and when he returned he carried a packet of 
faded, crumpled papers, which he handed to Papa Ravinet 
with the words, “Here they are.” 

Strange as it may seem, when the dealer touched these 
letters, impregnated with the peculiar perfume used by 
Sarah Brandon, he trembled ana turned pale. Perhaps in 
order to conceal his embarrassment, or perchance to be 
able to reflect at ease, he took a candlestick fiom the 
mantelpiece, and sat down by himself at a side-table. 
Mme. Bertolle, Daniel, and Plenriette remained silent, 
and nothing broke the stillness but the rustling of the 
paper, and Papa Ravinet’s voice, as he muttered : 

“This is fabulous — Sarah writing such things. She 
didn’t even disguise her handwriting — she who had never 
committed an imprudence in her life ; she ruins herself, 
for she actually signs her name !” But he had seen enough, 
and folding up the letters he turned to Champcey, 
exclaiming, “No doubt now ! Sarah loves you madly. Ah, 
how she loves you. Well, well, all heartless women love 
like this, when a sudden passion conquers them, and sets 
their brains and senses on fire.” 

Daniel noticed a look of concern on Henriette’s face, and 
quite distressed he made a sign to the old gentleman to 
stop. But Papa Ravinet was too preoccupied with his 
thoughts to notice the gesture, and so he rattled on ; 


DELIRIOAS WITH JOY. 


299 


“ Yes, now I understand it all — Sarah Brandon wasn’t 
able to keep her secret, and Brevan, furious with jealousy 
on discovering her love for you, did not reflect, that by 
hiring a murderer he would simply ruin himself. Ah, it’s 
all clear now, and by this correspondence, Sarah Brandon, 
you are ours.” 

What could be Papa Ravinet’s plan. Did he expect to 
use these letters as weapons against her, or did he propose 
to send them to the Count de Ville-Handry in order to 
open his eyes? Daniel trembled at the idea, for his loyalty 
rebelled against such a vengeance. 

“ You see,” said he, “I shouldn’t like to use a woman’s 
correspondence, however odious and contemptible she may 
be.” t 

“I had no idea of asking such a thing of you,” replied 
the old dealer. “No, it is something very different I want 
you to do.” And observing that Daniel still seemed very 
embarrassed, he added, “ You ought not to give way to 
exaggerated feelings of delicacy, M. Champcey. All 
weapons are fair when we are called upon to defend our 
lives and honor, and that is how we are situated. If you 
don’t hasten to strike Sarah Brandon, she will simply 
anticipate us.” 

He had been leaning against the mantel-piece, close to . 
Mme. Bertolle, who sat there silent and motionless, and 
now raising his head, and looking attentively at Henriette 
and Daniel by turns, he resumed : 

“ Perhaps neither of you is exactly conscious of the posi- 
tion in which you stand. Having been reunited to-night, 
after such terrible trials, and having both of you escaped 
death almost miraculously, you, no doubt, feel as if all 
trouble were ended, and the future secured. If that is the 
case I must undeceive you. You are situated precisely as 
you were the day before M. Champcey left France. You 
still cannot marry without the Count de Ville-Handry’s 
consent, and you know very well that the Countess Sarah 
will not let him give it. Do you think of defying preju- 
dices, and proudly confessing your love ? Ah, have a care. 

If you sin against social conventionalities you will risk all 
future happiness in life. Perhaps you fancy you might 
hide yourselves, but however careful you might be, the 
world would find you out, and fools and hypocrites would 
overwhelm you with slander. And Mile. Henriette has 
been too much slandered already. At the best, what 
could we hope for? That M. de Ville-Handry would not 
compel his daughter to marry another man. But would 


300 


DELIRIOUS WITH JOY. 


that be enough? Evidently not, for as soon as Sarah 
Brandon learns that Mile. Henriette has not committed 
suicide, but is at the Hotel du Louvre, within easy reach 
of M. Daniel (Jhampcey, she will prevail on her husband to 
shut his daughter up in a convent. For another year 
Mile. Henriette is yet under paternal control ; that is, in 
this case, at the mercy of a revengeful step-mother, who 
looks upon her as a successful rival.” 

The thought that Henriette might once more be taken 
from him chilled Daniel’s blood, and he exclaimed : 

“ Ah, you are right, and I never dreamed of any of these 
things. Joy had blinded my eyes completely.” 

“Oh, wait a bit,” continued Papa Ravinet, impetuously. 
“ I haven’t yet shown you the most urgent danger. The 
Count de Ville-Handry who had I don’t know how many 
millions when you knew him, is now completely ruined. 
Of all he once owned — lands, forests, castles, deeds, and 
bonds — there is nothing left. His last sou, his last rod of 
land, has been taken from him. All that remains is the 
sum coming to Mile. Henriette from her mother, and that 
he cannot touch. You left him living like a prince in his 
mansion in the Rue de Varennes ; you will find him vege- 
tating on the fourth floor of a lodging-house. The day is 
drawing near when Sarah Brandon will get rid of him, 
just as she got rid of Kergrist, of Malgat, the cashier, and 
others. The means are at hand. The count’s name is 
already seriously compromised. The company he has 
established is falling to pieces, and the papers hold him 
up to public contempt. If he cannot pay to-day, to-mor- 
row he will be charged with fraudulent bankruptcy. Now, 
I ask you, is the count a man to survive such disgrace f ” 

For some time Henriette had been unable to suppress her 
sobs, and now she broke out into piteous lamentations. 

“ Ah, sir !” she said, “ you have misled me. You assured 
me that my father’s life was in no danger.” 

“And I still tell you that it is not in danger. Would I be 
here if I thought that Sarah was quite ready to act ?” 

Daniel, on his side, had suffered acutely during this dis- 
cussion, and he now impetuously exclaimed : 

“Wouldn’t it be a crime for us to think and wait, and 
calculate, when such great dangers are impending ? Come, 
sir, let us go ” 

“Where?” 

“ Ah, how do I know ? To the public prosecutor, to the 
count, to a lawyer who can advise us. There must be 
something that can be done. ” 


DELIRIOUS WITH JOY. 


301 


The old dealer did not stir. 

“And what could we tell the lawyer?” asked he. “That 
Sarah Brandon made the Count de Ville-Handry fall madly 
in love with her? That’s no crime. That she made him 
marry her? That was her right. That the count has 
launched forth in speculations ? She opposed it. That he 
understood nothing of business? How could she help 
that ? That he has been duped, cheated, and finally ruined 
in two short years ? Apparently she is quite as much 
ruined as he is. That, so as to delay the catastrophe, he 
has resorted to fraudulent means? She is sorry for it. 
That he will not survive the taint on his ancient name ? 
What can she do ? Sarah, who was able to clear herself 
after Malgat disappeared, will certainly not be at a loss now 
to establish her innocence.” . ' t 

“ But the count, sir, the count ! Can’t we go to him'?” 

“Well, suppose we did. What do you think M. de Ville- 
Handry w r ould say to you? However, to-morrow you shall 
hear what he has to say.” 

Daniel began to feel dismayed. 

“What can be done then?” he asked. 

“We must wait till we have sufficient evidence in hand 
to crush Sarah Brandon, Sir Tom, and Mrs. Brian at one 
blow.’” 

“Well, but how can we obtain such evidence?” 

The old dealer glanced significantly at his sister, smiled, 
and answered, in a strange tone : 

“ I have collected some, and as for the rest — well, I don’t 
care about it, as I know that the Countess Sarah is really 
in love with you.” 

Daniel now began to divine the part Papa Ravinet 
expected him to play. Still, he did not object, but lower- 
ing his head under Henriette’s clear glance, he said, “ I will 
do what you wish me to do, sir.” 

The old gentleman gave vent to an exclamation of 
delight, as if he were relieved of an overwhelming anxiety. 

“ Then,” said he, “we will begin the campaign to-morrow 
morning. But we must know exactly who are the enemies 
we have to meet. So I will ask you to listgn to me.” 


302 


SABAH’S HISTOBY. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

SARAH’S HISTORY. 

The old dealer now drew up an easy-chair, sat down, 
and began as follows, in a somewhat husky voice : 

“ The Countess Sarah never had a right to be called 
Sarah Brandon, and she is not an American. Her real 
name, by which she was known up to her sixteenth year, 
is Ernestine Bergot, and she was born in Paris, in the 
Faubourg Saint Martin. It would be difficult to tell you 
in detail the life she led during her childhood, and besides 
there are some things that can’t be told. Her childhood 
might certainly be her excuse, if she could be excused at 
all. Her mother was one of those unfortunate women who 
come from the provinces in wooden shoes, and six months 
later dress in the latest fashion, living a short, gay life, 
which invariably ends in the hospital. Her mother was 
neither better nor worse than other women of her class. 
When Ernestine was born she had neither the sense to part 
with her, nor the courage — perhaps, who knows, she had 
not the means— to mend her ways. So the little one grew 
up by God’s mercy, but at the devil’s bidding, living by 
mere chance ; one day stuffed with lollypops, and on 
the morrow whipped without mercy, and frequently fed 
by the charity of neighbors, while her mother remained 
for weeks at a time absent from her lodgings. At four 
years old she wandered through the neighborhood dressed 
in tattered silk or velvet, with a faded ribbon in her hair, 
worn-out old shoes on her feet, and most frequently no 
stockings to keep her legs warm. So no wonder she had a 
hoarse voice, and shivered with cold. Just like the lost 
dogs who rove here and there looking for a bone, she pried 
about the gutters seeking for fallen half-pence, so as to 
buy a screw of fried potatoes, or may be some damaged 
fruit. Later on she extended the circle of her excursions, 
and wandered* all over Paris, in the company of other 
children like herself, stopping on the boulevards to look at 
the brilliant shops, pausing on the open squares to see 
some mountebanks perform, learning how to steal from 
street stalls, and at night time asking in a plaintive voice 
for alms on behalf of her poor, sick father. At twelve 
years old she was as thin as a plank, and as green as a 


SARAH’S HISTORY. 


303 


J une apple, with sharp elbows and long red hands. But 
she had beautiful light hair, teeth like a young dog’s, and 
large, impudent eyes. As you saw her go along, raising 
her head with an air of saucy indifference, and coquettish, 
despite her rags, you easily guessed that she was a 
daughter of Paris — the feminine counterpart of the much 
abused “ gamin, ” a thousand times more wicked than he 
is, and far more dangerous to society. She was, indeed, 
as depraved as the worst of sinners, fearing neither God 
nor the devil, nor, indeed, anything excepting the police. 
For from them she derived her only notions of morality, 
for it would have been love’s labor lost to talk to her of 
virtue or duty. Indeed, such words would have conveyed 
no meaning to her imagination, and she was equally igno- 
rant of the abstract ideas they represent. One day, how 7 
ever, her mother, who had virtually made a servant of her, 
had a praiseworthy inspiration. Finding that she had 
some money she dressed the girl anew from head to foot, 
bought her a kind of outfit, and apprenticed her to a dress- 
maker. But it came too late. Every kind of restraint 
was natqrally intolerable to such a vagabond nature, and 
at the end of the very first week she ran away from her 
mistress, stealing a hundred francs — and as long as these 
lasted she roamed through Paris. When they were spent, 
and she felt hungry, she decided to return to her mother. 
But her mother had moved, and no one knew what had 
become of her. She was inquired after, but never found. 
Any other person would have been in despair. Not she. 
Tiie same day she engaged herself as a waitress at a 
brasserie , and on being turned out there she found employ- 
ment at a low restaurant, where she had to wash up the 
plates and dishes. She was soon sent away from there 
as well, and became a servant in two or three other places 
of still lower character, till at last, utterly disgusted, 
she determined to do nothing at all. She was sinking into 
the gutter ; she was on the point of being ruined before 
reaching womanhood, like fruit which spoils before it is 
ripe, when a man turned up who was fated to arm her for 
life’s struggle, and to change a mere vulgar little thief 
into the accomplished monster of perversity you know.” 

Here Papa Ravinet suddenly paused, and looking at 
Daniel, exclaimed : 

u You must not believe, M. Champcey, that these details 
are imaginary. I have spent five years in tracing out 
Sarah’s early life — five years going from door to door, in 
search of information. A. dealer in second-hand goods 


304 


SARAH’S HISTORY. 


enters everywhere without exciting suspicion. And then 
I have witnesses to prove everything I have told you so 
f ar —witnesses whom I shall summon, and who will speak 
whenever it becomes necessary to establish the countess’ 
identity. 

Daniel made no reply. Like Henriette, and even Mme. 
Bertolle, he was completely fascinated by the old dealer’s 
manner and tone. The latter, after a few minutes’ rest, 
continued as follows : 

“ The man who picked up Sarah was an old German 
artist, both a painter and musician, a man of rare genius, 
though looked upon by ignorant folks as a maniac. One 
winter morning he heard a girl singing in the court-yard 
of his house. He looked out. It was Sarah. Struck by 
the pure notes of her voice, her intelligent glance, and 
promise of future beauty, and at the same time compas- 
sionating her apparent destitution, he called to her to come 
up to his studio. She came, he questioned her, and on 
learning that she was alone in the world, he remarked, 
‘Well, if you Avill stay with me I will adopt you ; you shall 
be my daughter, and I will make you an emineht artist.’ 
The studio was warm, and it was bitterly cold outside. 
Sarah had no roof over her head, and had eaten nothing 
for twenty-four hours. So she accepted the old artist’s 
offer. In doing so, be it understood, she fancied, in her 
perversity, that the kind old man had other intentions 
besides those he mentioned in offering her a home. She 
was mistaken, however. He merely recognized her bud- 
ding talents, and his only object was to transform her into 
a true marvel, which would astonish the world. It was a 
hard task, no doubt. Sarah could not even read ; indeed, 
she knew nothing except sin. Threats and blows were 
not apt to make an impression on her, as the old artist, no 
doubt, soon realized, but a friend of his has told me that 
he at last succeeded in bending her to his will, and induc- 
ing her to study by appealing to her pride and vanity. 
He kindled boundless thoughts of ambition in her mind, 
skillfully fanned her innate covetousness, and fairly 
intoxicated her with fairy-like hopes, promising her suc- 
cess and renown— wealth, adulation, and every good thing 
on earth — if she would but study as be directed. Well, 
she did work, and with steady perseverance — thus plainly 
showing that she had full faith in his promises, and that 
he had acquired great influence over her by appealing to 
her vanity. Extreme difficulties invariably attend so late 
a beginning, but her amazing natural gifts soon showed 


SARAHS HISTORY. 


305 


themselves, and in a short time her progress was almost 
miraculous. She had soon realized how ignorant she was 
of the world, and she perceived that society did not exclu- 
sively consist, as she had hitherto imagined, of people like 
those she had known. Besides, the old artist was a man 
of wide experience, and all but inexhaustible information. 
In his youth he had been protected by the Emperor of 
Austria, and had frequented the Court of Vienna. More- 
over, several of his operas had been brought out in Italy, 
and he had been admitted to the best society in Paris. Of 
an evening, while sipping his coffee, with his feet on the 
fender and his long pipe in his mouth, he would often 
forget himself amid the recollections of his earlier days, 
and Sarah would listen eagerly, while he described v the 
splendor of courts, the beauty of women, the magnificence 
of their toilets, and the intrigues he had ofttimes seen 
going on around him. He spoke to her of the men whose 
portraits he had painted, of life and manners behind the 
stage, of the great singers who had sung in his operas, 
and the great ladies he had met in society. Two years 
went by, and no one could recognize the lean, wretched 
looking little vagabond girl of the Faubourg St. Martin in 
this fresh, rosy maid, with lustrous eyes and modest mien, 
whom the people of * the house called the ‘pretty artist of 
the fourth floor.’ So far as modesty was concerned, the 
change unfortunately was only on the surface. Sarah was 
already too thoroughly corrupted, when the old artist 
picked her up, to be capable of being entirely transformed. 
He thought he had infused his own rough honesty into her 
veins, but in truth he had only taught her a new vice — 
hypocrisy. Her powers of dissimulation, however, had 
naturally far from reached their present stage of develop- 
ment, and unable at last to endure the peaceful life of the 
old artist’s home any longer — pining, in fact,, for sin — she 
could not restrain herself from begging him to obtain her 
a theatrical engagement. She was already a very fair 
musician, and her voice possessed amazing power for her 
age. But the old artist peremptorily refused her request. 
He wished her debut to become an apotheosis, and had 
decided, as he told her, that she should not appear in 
public till her voice and talents were perfected — that is, 
certainly not before her nineteenth or twentieth year. 
That meant that she must wait three or four years longer 
— a century. In former times, Sarah would not have hesi- 
tated a moment ; she would simply have run away. But 
education had changed her ideas, and she asked herself 


306 


SARAH’S HISTORY. 


what could she do alone in the world without either 
friends or money ? She pined for her liberty, no doubt, 
but she was afraid of destitution. Vice attracted her, 
but it was gorgeous vice — vice which rides in a carriage, 
and bespatters poor, honest women on foot — the vice 
which is envied by the crowd, and worshiped by the fool- 
ish. So, as this was not yet within her reach she remained 
with her old master and studied hard. Perhaps, in spite 
of herself and her execrable instincts, she would really 
have become a great artist, if the old German had not 
been suddenly taken away from her by a terrible acci- 
dent. One spring afternoon, he was smoking his pipe at 
the window, when he heard a noise in the street, and 
leaned over to see what occasioned it. But the bar on 
which he rested gave way, and he tried in vain to hold on 
by the window frame ; he was precipitated from the fourth 
story on to the ground below. Death was instantaneous. 
I have seen the police report of the accident, which states 
that the fall was unavoidable, and that the calamity 
would, no doubt, have occurred earlier, if the bad weather 
had not deterred the old artist from looking out of the 
window before. In fact, the window railing had snapped 
asunder just where it joined the wall, — and here it was 
noticed to be almost eaten through with rust. The wood, 
too, was quite loose, the mortar that had originally kept 
it in place having seemingly been eaten away by the win- 
ter frosts.” 

Daniel and Henriette had turned very pale. It was evi- 
dent that the same terrible suspicion had flashed through 
both their minds. “Ah! it was Sarah’s work,” they 
exclaimed simultaneously. “ No doubt she poured acid on 
the bar to eat it away, and purposely loosened the mortar. 
She had, no doubt, been watching for months to see her 
benefactor fall and kill himself.” 

Papa Ravinet shook his head. 

“I do not say that,” he said; “and at all events it 
would be impossible to prove it now. It is certain that no 
one suspected Sarah. She seemed to be in despair ; and 
everybody pitied her sincerely. For was she not ruined 
by this misfortune ? The old artist had left no will. His 
relatives rushed to his rooms ; and after searching Sarah’s 
trunks, at once turned her out of doors, telling her that 
she ought to be very grateful for being allowed to take 
away all she said she owed to her late patron’s munifi- 
cence. Still the inheritance was by no means what the 
relatjyep had expected. They had imagined they would 


SARAH’S HISTORY. 


307 


find considerable savings in the old man’s private drawers, 
but all they discovered were a few bonds, worth alto- 
gether some ten or twelve thousand francs, and a paltry 
sum in cash. Ah ! I long endeavored to find out what 
became of the old artist’s other bonds and his ready money 
— for undoubtedly he was possessed of considerable means. 
However, after a most minute and patient investigation, 
all I managed to discover was that on the 17th of April 
that year — that is, five days before the poor German’s fall 
— a certain Ernestine Bergot had deposited a sum of fifteen 
hundred francs at the district savings bank.” 

“Ah, you see!” exclaimed Daniel. “Weary of the 
simple life she led with the old man, she murdered him to 
get hold of his money.” tf 

Papa Ravinet did not seemingly hear the interruption. 

“ What Sarah did during the first three months of her 
freedom, I cannot tell,” continued he. “If she went and 
rented furnished lodgings, she did so under a false name. 
A clerk at the Prefecture, who is a great lover of curi- 
osities, and for whom I have procured many a good bar- 
gain, obliged me by having all the lodging-house lists of 
tenants, which as you know the police exact, carefully 
examined, from April to July of that same year. How- 
ever, no Ernestine Bergot could be found. I am quite 
sure, however, that she thought of the stage, for a former 
secretary of the Theatre Lyrique told me he distinctly 
recollected a certain Ernestine, beautiful beyond descrip- 
tion, who came several times and requested a trial. She 
was, however, refused, simply because her pretensions 
were almost ridiculous. And this was quite natural ; for 
her l^ad was still full of all her old master’s ambitious 
dreams. The first positive trace I find of her during that 
year dates from the end of the summer, when she was liv- 
ing in a fashionable street with a talented and wealthy 
young painter, named Planix. It appears that he literally 
worshiped her, that he loved her passionately, and was so 
absurdly jealous that he became desperate whenever she 
staid out an hour later than he expected. Now, with 
Sarah’s well-known horror of restraint, she cannot have 
particularly liked this life, and yet she bore her yoke 
patiently till fate threw Maxime de Brevan across her 
path. Several years had already elapsed since Justin 
Chevassat, after his release from the galleys, had assumed 
the style and title of a nobleman. Nowadays it is easy 
enough for an adventurer to penetrate into what is called 
Parisian ‘ High Life. ’ He only needs a little bounce, and 


308 


SAEAH’S HISTOEY. 


a high-sounding name — picked up no matter where. 
Justin Chevassat met with great success on his entrance 
into 4 Society. ’ He had carefully prepared himself for all 
emergencies, like those adventurers who never travel 
abroad without having their passports in much better order 
than most honest folks. He had learned prudence by 
experience, for his antecedents were stormy enough. His 
parents, now residing in the Rue de la Grange, lived. some 
thirty-eight or forty years ago in the neighborhood of the 
Faubourg St. Honore, where they kept a little wine-shop 
and eating-house, principally frequented by the servants 
of the neighborhood. Although they were people of easy 
principles they were not at that epoch absolutely dishonest. 
When their son Justin was born they became most ambi- 
tious for him, and determined to sacrifice all their savings, 
and even to stint themselves, so as to bring him up like a 
gentleman. Such ideas are after all common enough 
among a certain set of people. Accordingly Justin was 
sent to school, where he conducted himself just badly 
enough to be perpetually on the brink of being sent away, 
without ever being really expelled. However, the Chevas- 
sats had become so accustomed to look upon their son as a 
superior being that it never entered their mind to think 
he was not the first, the best, and most remarkable pupil 
of the establishment. If his reports were bad — and such 
they always were — they accused the teachers of partiality. 
If he had gained no prizes at the end of the year — and he 
never gained a single one — they tried to console him for be- 
ing subjected to such cruel injustice. In fact, he was alto- 
gether a spoiled child. The consequences of such a sys- 
tem need hardly be pointed out. He grew to despise his 
parents thoroughly ; in fact, he seemed heartily ashamed 
of them, and treated them as if they had been his servants. 
Whenever he was at home during the holiday time he 
would rather have cut his right arm off than lend his 
father a helping hand, or pour out a glass of wine for a cus- 
tomer. Indeed, he even staid away from the house on the 
plea that he could not endure the smell from the kitchen. 
He was at college now, but when he reached his seven- 
teenth year, although his course was far from completed, 
he declared that he was tired of studying, and meant to 
give it up. His father timidly asked him what he pro- 
posed doing, and he simply replied by shrugging his shoul- 
ders. He really did nothing. His „ delight was to dress 
himself in the height of the fashion ; to walk up and down 
before the most renowned restaurants, with a toothpick in 


SARAH’S HISTORY. 


309 


his mouth, to hire a carriage, and drive it himself, with 
a hired groom in livery by his side. At night he gambled 
in questionable clubs, and when he lost the till in his 
father’s shop enabled him to settle his ‘differences.’ His 
parents had rented, and comfortably furnished, a nice set 
of rooms for him in their house, and tried their utmost to 
keep him at home, even neglecting their own business to 
attend to Ms orders. But this did not prevent him from 
being constantly away. He declared he could not possi- 
bly receive his friends in a house where his name was to 
be seen above the door of such a low establishment. It 
was, indeed, his despair to be the son of a restaurant 
keeper, and to be called Chevassat. But greater grief was 
in store for him, after two years of this idle, expensive 
life. One fine morning, when he needed a thousand ffancs 
or so, his parents told him, with tears in their eyes, that 
they had not a hundred francs in the house, that they 
were at the end of their resources, that a promissory note 
of theirs had been protested the day before, and that they 
were at that moment on the verge of bankruptcy. They 
did not reproach Justin with having spent all their sav- 
ings ; far from it. Indeed, incredible as it may seem, they 
humbly asked his pardon if they were no longer able to 
provide for his wants. And trembling with fear, they at 
last ventured to suggest that perhaps it would be as well 
if he could find some kind of work. He coolly told them 
that he would think it over, but that he must have his thous- 
and francs. And he got them, for his father and mother 
had still their watches and a little jewelry, all of which 
they pawned, handing him the proceeds. Still he saw that 
the till he had considered inexhaustible was really empty, 
and that it would be the same with his pockets, unless he 
could devise some means of filling them. Accordingly, he 
endeavored to obtain some employment, and his god- 
father, formerly the valet of the old Marquis de Brevan, 
found him a post in the office of a banker, who wished to 
train a reliable young man to the business, with the view 
of ultimately intrusting him with the keeping of a large 
part of his funds.” 

Papa Ravinet’s tone of voice changed so perceptibly as 
he uttered these last words that Daniel and Henriette, 
with one impulse, asked him : 

“Is anything the matter, sir? y 

He did not make any reply, but his sister, Mme. Ber- 
tolle, exclaimed, “ No, there is nothing the matter with my 


310 SARAH’S HISTORY. 

brother,” and she looked at him with a nod of encourage- 
ment. 

“I am all right,” he said, like an echo, and then making 
a great effort, he continued : “ In those days Justin Chev- 
assat was as great a dissembler as now, and equally capa- 
ble of resorting to any device in furtherance of his object. 
The hope of enriching himself by one gre^jb stroke had 
already seized hold of him, and it induced him to change 
his life and manners in the most radical manner. This 
hitherto lazy profligate now rose at daybreak, worked for 
ten hours like a horse, and became the model of clerks. He 
had resolved to win his patron’s favor and confidence, and 
succeeded in doing so by practicing the most consummate 
hypocrisy, so that only two years after entering the bank- 
er’s service he was already promoted to the post of chief 
cashier and confidential clerk. In those times absconding 
cashiers were far less numerous than nowadays. Bankers 
and financial companies did not include robbery by their 
own clerks among the ordinary risks. When they consid- 
ered the keys of their safe were in the hands of an honest 
man, they slept soundly enough, and thus Justin Chevas- 
sat’s patron had been sleeping for ten months, when one 
Sunday he happened to have especial need of certain papers 
which Justin usually kept in one of the drawers of his 
desk. Justin was sent for, but he was not at home, hav- 
ing left to spend the day with some friends, no one exactly 
knew where. Accordingly, the banker sent for a lock- 
smith to open the drawer. The first thing he saw inside 
w^as a draft signed by himself, and yet he had never put 
his name to such a paper. Still, most certainly, it was his 
signature ; he w^ould have sworn to it in court. His first 
amazement was succeeded by grievous apprehension. He 
had the other drawers opened in the same manner, searched 
them, and soon discovered all the details of a formidable 
and most ingenious plan by which he w r as to be robbed at 
a single blow of more than a million francs. If he had 
slept soundly one month longer he would have been half 
ruined. That favorite clerk of his was merely a matchless 
forger. So, without more ado, he went to the Prefecture 
de Police, and the next morning, when Chevassat arrived 
at the office as usual, he was arrested. It was then thought 
that his crime was confined to this abortive attempt. Not 
so, however, for an examination of all the books and papers 
soon revealed other misdeeds. It w T as found that, on the 
very day after his appointment as confidential clerk, he 
had stolen five thousand francs, concealing his theft by 


SARAH’S HISTORY. 


311 


means of a false entry. Since then not a week had elapsed 
without his laying hands on more or less considerable 
sums, and all these thefts had been most ingeniously con- 
cealed by such skillful imitations of other people’s signa- 
tures, that once, when he had been ill for a fortnight, his 
substitute had never noticed the slightest thing wrong. 
In short, it appeared that his defalcations amounted alto- 
gether to some four hundred thousand francs, and the ques- 
tion was, what had he done with so large a sum of money ? 
His defense was that he had been seized with a sudden 
uncontrollable idea to speculate on the Bourse — and after 
all, was not that natural enough, for did not his own 
employer speculate there ? Having lost some money, and 
fearing he should lose his situation if he did not pay, the 
fatal thought occurred to him of borrowing from the 
strong-box. From that moment he had only cherished the 
idea of restoring what he had abstracted. If he speculated 
anew it was in hopes of gaining enough to cover the 
deficiency. But ill luck pursued him ; the deficit grew 
larger and larger, and, overcome with remorse and terror, 
he almost became mad. and ceased to restrain himself. He 
laid great stress upon the fact that the whole 400,000 francs 
had been lost at the Bourse, but unfortunately the forged 
checks and drafts in his drawer destroyed the force of this 
plea. The investigating magistrate suspected Justin’s par- 
ents of knowing what had really become of this missing 
money. He questioned them, and obtained sufficient evi- 
dence against them to justify their arrest. But they could 
not be convicted at the trial, and had to be released. For 
Justin, however, matters looked serious, but he was lucky 
enough to be defended by a young advocate who initiated in 
his case a system of pleading which has since become very 
popular. He made no effort to exculpate his client, but 
boldly attacked the banker. ‘Was it sensible,’ he asked, 
‘to trust so young a man with such large sums ? Was it 
not tempting him beyond his powers of resistance, and 
almost provoking him to become dishonest ? What, this 
banker never examined his books for so many months ? 
What kind of a business was it, where a cashier could so 
easily abstract 400,000 francs and remain undiscovered ? 
And ~ then how immoral for a banker to speculate at the 
Bourse, and thus set a bad example to his young, inexperi- 
enced clerks !’ In the result Justin Chevassat escaped with 
twenty years’ penal servitude. At the bagne of Brest he 
played the * repentant criminal, ’ overcome with sorrow for 
the past, and determined to make amends in the future. 


312 


SARAH’S HISTORY. 


He carried on this comedy so successfully that after three 
years and a half he was pardoned. But he had not lost his 
time. Contact with professional criminals had sharpened 
his wits, and completed his education as a rogue — inspir- 
ing him moreover, with the idea of bursting forth in a new 
shape, under which no one would ever suspect his former 
identity. I can tell you accurately how he did this. 
Through his godfather, the valet, who had died before his 
trial, Justin knew the history of the Brevan family in its 
minutest particulars. It was a very sad story. The old 
marquis had died insolvent, after losing every one of his 
five sons, who had gone abroad to make their fortunes. 
The family had thus become extinct, but Justin proposed 
to perpetuate it for his own advantage. He knew that the 
Brevans were originally from Maine, that they had for- 
merly owned immense estates in the neighborhood of Le 
Mans, and that they had not been there for more than 
twenty years. Would they still be remembered in a dis- 
trict where they had once been all-powerful ? Most cer- 
tainly they would. Would people take the trouble to 
inquire minutely what had become of the -marquis and his 
five sons? As certainly not. Accordingly, as soon as 
Chevassat was free, he began by doing all he could to 
destroy every trace of his former identity, and, when he 
thought he had accomplished this, he went to Le Mans, 
assuming the name of one of the marquis’ sons, who had 
been nearly of his own age. Every one really believed 
that he was Maxime de Brevan, and, indeed, who would 
have doubted it when he purchased the ruined old family 
castle, and a small farm adjoining it, for a considerable 
sum in hard cash ? Where did that cash come from ? No 
doubt it formed part of those 400,000 francs said to have 
been lost at the Bourse, but in reality confided for safe 
keeping to Justin’s father and mother. He now took the 
precaution of living on his little estate for four years, 
leading the life of a country gentleman, received with open 
arms by the nobility of the neighborhood, forming friend- 
ships, gaining supporters, and becoming morb and more 
identified as Maxime de Brevan. His aim was, no doubt, 
to marry an heiress, so as to consolidate his position, and 
he nearly carried out his plan. He was on the point of 
marrying a young lady from Le Mans, who would have 
brought him half a million francs in cash, and the banns 
had already been published, when, all of a sudden, the 
marriage was broken off, no one knew why. At all events, 
he was so disappointed by his failure, that he sold his prop- 


SARAH’S HISTORY. 


313 


erty again, and left the province. For the next three years 
he lived in Paris, more completely Maxime de Brevan than 
ever, and then he met Sarah Brandon.” 

We have condensed this narrative, but in point of fact 
Papa Ravinet had been speaking now for nearly three 
hours, and he was beginning to feel exhausted. He showed 
his weariness in his face, and his voice almost failed him. 
Still it was in vain that Daniel, Henriettte, and Mme. Ber- 
tolle united in begging him to retire and take a little rest. 

“No,” said he, “ I will go on to the end. You do not know 
how important it is that M. Champcey should be in a posi- 
tion to act to-morrow, or rather to-day.” Then returning 
to his subject, he proceeded, “It was at a fancy ball, given 
by M. Planix, that Sarah Brandon, at that time still known 
as Ernestine Bergot, and Justin Chevassat, now Maxime 
de Brevan, met for the first time. He was quite overpow- 
ered by her marvelous beauty, and she was strangely 
impressed by the peculiar * expression on Maxime’s face. 
Perhaps they divined each other’s character, and had an 
intuitive perception of who they were. At all events, they 
danced several times together, sat side by side at supper, 
talked long and intimately, and were already fast friends 
when the ball came to a close. After that they met fre- 
quently, and if it were not profanation, I would say they 
fell in love. They seemed made on purpose to understand 
and, so to say, complement, each other — being equally 
corrupt, having the same sinful desires, and equally free 
from all old-fashioned prejudices about justice, morals, 
and honor. , Thus they could hardly help coming to some 
understanding to associate their ambitions and future 
plans. It is evident that they talked together most freely ; 
in fact, that they had no secrets from each other, and it is 
this mutual knowledge of each other’s antecedents that 
prolonged their intimacy, when their liaison no longer 
existed. Nowadays they hate each other, but they are 
also afraid of each other. They have often tried to break 
off their intimacy — but they have always been compelled 
to renew it, owing to mutual interests. At first they had 
to conceal their connection, for they had no money. With 
what was left to her out of what she had stolen from her 
old German master, and what she had obtained from M. 
Planix, Sarah could not make up more than some forty 
thousand francs, which was not enough to ‘set up’ the most 
modest establishment. As to M. de Brevan, he had come 
to the end of the sums purloined from his employer, and 
for the last eight or ten months he had been reduced, to all 


314 


SABAH’S HISTORY. 


kinds of dangerous expedients. He, no doubt, still rode 
in his carraige, but he had been more than once very happy 
to extort a napoleon or two from his parents. He visited 
them, of course, only in secret, for they had in the mean- 
time been reduced to the post of door-keepers or concierges 
at No. 23 Rue de la Grange. Thus, far from being able to 
assist Sarah, he was perfectly delighted when one fine day 
she brought him ten thousand francs to alleviate his dis- 
tress. She did not give him this money for nothing, for 
on subsequent occasions she repeatedly suggested to Max- 
ime that their future would be secure if the.y could only 
set their hands on Planix’s money. Planix was so infatu- 
ated, so madly in love with her, that although quite a 
young man, she persuaded him to make a will in her favor, 
and when this success had been achieved, M. de Brevan, 
whose turn it was to help, introduced into the circle which 
Sarah and Planix frequented one of his personal friends, 
who was considered, and who really was, the best swords- 
man in Paris— a good fellow otherwise, honor itself, and 
rather patient in temper than given to quarreling. How- 
ever, without compromising herself, and with that abomin- 
able skill which is peculiarly her own, Sarah coquetted 
just enough with this young man, M. de Pont-Aver, to 
tempt him to pay her some attentions. But that very night 
she complained to M. Planix of his persecution, so skill- 
fully exciting her protector’s jealousy, that, three days 
later, he allowed himself to be carried away by passion, 
and struck M. de Pont-Aver in the presence of a dozen 
friends. Of course a duel was the result. ‘They fought 
with swords, one Saturday morning, in the wood of Vin- 
cennes, and, after a brief encounter, M. Planix fell dead, 
pierced to the heart. He was not yet twenty-seven years 
old. The poor young fellow’s will was opened and read 
the same day by the district justice of the peace, who had 
been sent for to seal up the property. To Sarah’s infinite 
discomfiture, this will was scarcely what she had expected. 
One day, thinking of his relatives, and greatly annoyed 
with Sarah for having absented herself, a thing she often 
did nowadays, to go and consult with De Brevan, Planix, 
who was jealousy personified, had added a couple of lines 
as a codicil. He still said, ‘I appoint Mile. Ernestine Ber- 
got my residuary legatee,’ but he had written underneath, 
‘on condition that she pays to each of my sisters the sum 
of a hundred and fifty thousand francs.’ Now this was 
more than three-fourths of his whole fortune. Accord- 
ingly, when she reached Brevan’s rooms that night, her 


SARAH’S HISTORY. 


315 


first words wore, ‘We have been robbed ! Planix was a 
scamp ! We sha’n’t have a hundred thousand francs left 
for ourselves.’ She declared, moreover, that such a sum 
would barely suffice for a year’s expenditure, whereupon 
De Brevan suggested that they might go to one of the 
German gambling resorts, and try and increase their cap- 
ital. He was, in fact, an innate gambler, and to persuade 
Sarah, he promised to turn her 100,000 francs into a mill- 
ion ; she yielded, tempted by the very boldness of his prop- 
osition. They resolved not to stop playing till they had 
won this million, or lost everything. And so they went 
to Homburg, where they fought the bank with marvelous 
skill and almost incredible coolness. I have met an old 
croupier who recollects them even now. Twice they were 
on the point of staking their last thousand-franc-note, * and 
one lucky day they had won as much as four hundred 
thousand francs. That day Maxime proposed they should 
leave Homburg, but Sarah, who kept the money, refused, 
repeating her favorite motto, 4 All, or nothing. ’ It was 
nothing. Victory remained, as usual, with the ‘big battal- 
ions, ’ and one evening the two partners returned to their 
lodgings, ruined, penniless, without even a watch left 
between them, and owing the hotel keeper a considerable 
sum of money. Maxime spoke of blowing his brains out, 
but Sarah, on the contrary, had never been merrier. The 
next morning she dressed very early and went out, saying 
she had a plan in her head, and would soon be back. But 
she failed to return, and M. de Brevan waited for her in 
vain throughout the day. In the evening, however, a 
messenger brought him a letter. He opened the envelope, 
^nd found three thousand franc notes inside, together with 
the following note, ‘When you receive these lines I shall 
be far from Homburg. Do not wait for me. I inclose you 
enough to enable you to return to Paris. You shall see 
me again when our fortune is made. Ernestine. ’ Max- 
ime was at first overcome with amazement, and then rage 
got the better of him. What, she had abandoned him in 
this unceremonious fashion ? Who had she gone off with ? 
Where had she gone ? He must find her and punish her 
for her faithlessness. He now recollected that during the 
last week or so, since fortune had forsaken them, he had 
on two or three occasions surprised her in the Salon de la 
Conversation, talking with a thin, elongated individual of 
forty or thereabouts, who was in the habit of wandering 
through the rooms, attracting considerable attention by 
his huge whiskers, stiff carriage, and wearied expression. 


316 


SARAH’S HISTORY. 


Ruined as she was, perhaps she had gone off with this 
individual who looked as if he might well be a millionaire. 
Where had he been staying ? Maxime soon found out that, 
and hurried to the hostelry in question — the Hotel des 
Trois Rois. But he arrived too late. The elongated indi- 
vidual had left that morning for Frankfort by the 10.45 
train, with an elderly lady and a remarkably pretty girl. 
Sure of his game now, M. de B revan started for Frankfort, 
convinced that Sarah’s brilliant beauty would guide him 
like a star. But he explored the town in vain, inquiring 
at all the hotels, and pestering everyone with his eager 
questions. He could find no trace of the fugitives. He 
returned to Homburg the same night in a desperate state 
of mind, for during their five months’ intimacy Sarah had 
gained such ascendency over him that now that he was 
left to his own resources he felt like a lost child. What 
could he do? If he returned to Paris he must encounter 
his creditors, who, after his long absence, would certainly 
fall upon him at once. How could he induce them to wait ? 
Where could he obtain the money to pay them, at least, a 
percentage of their dues? How could he support himself? 
The future looked black indeed, and yet at last he mustered 
up sufficient courage to return to Paris and face the storm. 
Resuming his old life of expedients, he managed, by asso- 
ciating himself with another adventurer of his own stamp, 
to pass through the crisis, and secure sufficient for his 
most pressing needs, without compromising his assumed 
name. Still at the best it was only a makeshift life, and 
over and over again he asked himself what had become of 
Ernestine Bergot. 

“ She was then in America. The tall, stiff individual and 
the elderly lady, who had carried her off, were Sir Thomas 
Elgin and Mrs. Brian. What were their real names ? I 
cannot tell you, for I have not had time to go into their 
antecedents. However, you may be quite certain that 
Elgin is no more a baronet than I am. Both of them 
belong to that class of adventurers who are always to be 
met hanging about the continental spas, watering places, 
and gambling resorts. They were both of English origin, 
and had so far managed to live pleasantly enough, of 
course at the expense of innumerable confiding dupes. 
Old age, however, was now approaching and they were 
growing fearful for the future, when chance threw Ernes- 
tine Bergot across their path. They divined her character 
easily enough, and fancied she would furnish them with 
the means of acquiring a large fortune. So they offered 


SARAH’S HISTORY. 


317 


to take her into partnership, furnishing everything they 
possessed, a hundred thousand francs or so, as capital for 
their projected enterprise. They proposed to use her as a 
snare and decoy, realizing well enough that her beauty 
would suffice to entrap innumerable fools, and bring in a 
rich harvest of bank-notes. The idea was by no means 
novel — as you seem to think, M. Champcey — nor is the 
case a rare one. At all fashionable European resorts young 
women of great beauty will be found backed up by cosmo- 
politan adventurers, and intent on ruining all such foolish 
viveurs as fall into their clutches. Sometimes they make 
their mark. Some have obtained royal favor ; others have 
married dukes, and others again, unlucky in their ven- 
tures, nowadays keep low gambling hells, or have recom- 
menced the struggle as the chaperones and abettors of 
younger women. Now Elgin and Mrs. Brian had decided 
to exhibit Sarah in Paris. She was to marry a duke with 
any number of millions, and they were to be remunerated 
for their trouble by receiving an annual allowance of some 
fifty or sixty thousand francs. But, in order to carry out 
the project with a good chance of success it, was indispens- 
able that her identity, and even nationality, should be 
changed. She must reappear on the horizon like an un- 
known star, and above all she must be properly trained 
and schooled for the part she was to play. Hence the trip 
to America and her long sojourn there. Chance helped 
them in a surprising way, for scarcely had they landed 
when they found they could easily introduce the girl as 
the daughter of General Brandon, just as Justin Chevassat 
had managed to become Maxime de Brevan. Brandon had 
really existed, but was now dead. At the epoch of the 
civil war he had sent his wife and only daughter to Europe. 
People had subsequently heard of the wife’s death, but 
what had become of the daughter no one knew. Thus 
Ernestine Bergot was at once introduced into the best 
society at Philadelphia as Sarah Brandon. With the same 
idea as De Brevan, moreover, Elgin, despite his limited 
means, prudently purchased for a thousand dollars a 
considerable tract of land in the western part of the State 
where there were as yet no traces of any oil-wells, but 
where some might very well be found, and had the prop- 
erty entered in his ward’s name. I have documentary 
proof of all these particulars, and can produce, it when- 
ever necessary. ” 

For some time already Daniel and Henriette Had been 
looking at each other in amazement. They were wonder- 


318 


SARAH’S HISTORY. 


1 


fully impressed by the sagacity, cunning, patience, and 
labor which the old dealer must have expended in collect- 
ing all this curious information. But without noticing 
their surprise, he calmly continued, after a short pause : 
“Sir Tom and Mrs. Brian soon realized what a good stroke 
of business they had done in securing Sarah’s services. 
They began to teach her English at the outset, and as she 
only possessed a smattering of that tongue when she landed 
in America, the deficiency was explained by her prolonged 
residence in Europe under the care of foreign folks. Six 
months later, however, this wonderful girl spoke English 
perfectly, and people pointed to the circumstance as an 
instance of how swiftly the maternal tongue always 
returns, no matter how long it may have been forgotten or 
left unpracticed. Moreover, as soon as Mrs. Brian had 
explained to her the part she was expected to play, she 
had assumed it so naturally and perfectly that one looked 
in vain for any trace of art. She had instinctively realized 
the immense advantage she would derive from reappearing 
in Europe as an American girl, and the irresistible effect 
she might easily produce by her air of freedom and bold 
ingenuousness. Finally, at the end of eighteen months’ 
sojourn in America, Elgin decided that the time had come 
for her to appear upon the stage. It was, therefore, 
twenty-eight months after their parting at Homburg that 
M. de Brevan received one morning the following note, 
‘Come to-night at nine o’clock to Sir Thomas Elgin’s house 
in the Rue du Cirque, and be prepared for a surprise.’ He 
went there. A tall man, whom he didn’t know, opened 
the door of the drawing-room, and at the sight of a young 
lady who sat beside the fire, he could not help exclaiming, 
‘Ernestine, is that you?’ But she interrupted him at once, 
saying, ‘You are mistaken; Ernestine Bergot is dead, and 
buried by the side of Justin Chevassat, my dear M. de 
Brevan. Now don’t look so amazed, but come and kiss 
Miss Sarah Brandon’s hand.’ It was heaven opening for 
Maxime. She had at last come back to him — this woman, 
who had crossed his life like a tempest crosses the ocean, 
and whose memory he had ever retained in his heart. 
She had returned more beautiful than ever, and he fancied 
that love had brought her back. His vanity led him astray. 
Sarah had long since ceased to admire him. She had 
learned to appreciate him at his just value, and realized 
that he was too timid, over-cautious, petty in all his ideas 
and plans, like all needy scamps, and incapable of con- 
ceiving any vast design. Still, although she now despised 


SABAH’S VICTIMS. 


319 


him, she needed him. About to embark on a very danger- 
ous game, she felt the necessity of having at least one 
accomplice in whom she could place perfect trust. To be 
sure there were Mrs. Brian and Sir Tom, but she mistrusted 
them. They held her, and she had no hold on them. On 
the otiier hand, Maxime de Brevan was entirely hers, 
dependent on her pleasure, like the clay in a sculptor’s 
hands. It is true he was most distressed when he heard 
that the immense fortune he coveted was still to be made, 
and that Sarah was no farther advanced now than she had 
been on the day of their separation. She might even have 
said that she was less so, for the two years and more which 
had just elapsed had played havoc with Sir Tom’s and Mrs. 
Brian’s savings, and when they had settled for their estab- 
lishment in the Rue du Cirque, and for the hire of a 
brougham, a landau, and two saddle-horses, they had 
hardly twenty thousand francs left altogether. They 
knew, therefore, that they must succeed or sink during 
the coming year. And thus driven to bay, they were 
doubly to be feared. They were determined to pounce 
upon the first victim that might pass within reach, and 
chance at that moment offered them as a prey the unlucky 
cashier of the Mutual Discount Society — Malgat.” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

SARAH’S VICTIMS. 

The old dealer’s fatigue seemed now to have altogether 
disappeared. He was sitting erect, with flashing eyes, and 
once more resumed his story, this time in a strangely 
strident voice : 

It was an October afternoon when Malgat saw Sarah 
Brandon for the first time. He was then a man of forty, 
content with his lot in life, and rather simple, as is usually 
the case with those who have never mixed up in the 
intrigues of society. He had one great absorbing passion, 
however — a mania for collecting curiosities, articles of 
virtu, bric-a-brac of every description, and his happiest 
moments were those when he managed to purchase a piece 
of china or some antique article of furniture for a cheap 
price. He was not rich, having long since spent all his 
little patrimony on his collections ; but his situation 
brought him in some 12,000 francs a year, and he was sure 
of an adequate pension in his old age. He had been head 


320 


SARAH’S VICTIMS. 


cashier for fifteen years, during which hundreds of 
millions of francs had passed through his hands without 
once arousing a covetous thought. His employers did not 
merely esteem him ; they were positively his friends, and 
their confidence in him was so great that they would have 
laughed in the face of any one who came and told them, 
‘Malgat is a thief !’ One day he was standing near his 
safe, when a gentleman entered the office to cash a draft 
drawn by the Central Bank of Philadelphia upon the 
Mutual Discount Society. This gentleman, who was Sir 
Thomas Elgin, made such a number of inquiries, and spoke 
such imperfect French, that Malgat asked him, for con- 
venience sake to step inside the railing. He came in, and 
behind him walked Sarah Brandon. At first sight Malgat 
was so impressed by her fascinating beauty that he fairly 
lost his head. He could scarcely stammer out an answer 
to Sir Tom’s questions, and was lost in a kind of idiotic 
delight. He was the victim of one of those strange over- 
whelming passions which fairly deprive us of the free use 
of our faculties. Sarah had keenly noticed the impression 
she had produced. To be sure, Malgat was far from being 
the ideal millionaire husband these adventurers were 
seeking for ; but, after all, he kept the keys of a safe in 
which millions were deposited, and something might, no 
doubt, be got out of him to enable the ‘clique’ to wait for 
better times. They had soon formed their plan, and the 
very next day Sir Tom presented himself alone at the 
office to ask for some fresh information. He returned 
three days later with another draft, and by the end of the 
week he had furnished Malgat with an opportunity to 
render him some trifling services. Thus connection was 
established, and at the end of a fortnight Sir Tom could, 
with all propriety, ask the cashier to dine with him in 
the Rue du Cirque. One of those presentiments which we 
ought always to listen to warned Malgat not to accept the 
invitation, but he was aleady no longer his own master. 
He went to that dinner, and came away madly in love. 
The commonest politeness required that he should pay 
Mrs. Brian and Sir Tom an ‘ after dinner’ visit, and this 
first call was followed by many .-others. A man less 
blinded by passion might have grown mistrustful on 
noting the eagerness with which these wretches, impelled 
by necessity, carried on the intrigue. Six weeks after 
their first meeting Malgat fancied that Sarah was in love 
with him. It was an absurd, foolish, insane idea, no 
doubt, and yet such was his fancy. He thought that 


SARAH’S VICTIMS. 


321 


Sarah’s rapturous glances were genuine, he believed in 
the marvelous sweetness of her voice, and was especially- 
struck by the blushes of apparent confusion which his 
coming invariably provoked. The second act of the com- 
edy at once followed. One day Mrs. Brian pretended all 
of a sudden to notice something amiss, and promptly 
requested Malgat never to set foot again within that 
house. She accused him of an attempt to seduce Sarah 
Brandon. You can imagine, no doubt, how the fool pro- 
tested, explaining the purity of his intentions, and swear- 
ing .that he would be the happiest of mortals if they would 
co .aescend to grant him their niece’s hand. But Sir Tom 
haughtily asked him how he dared to think of such a 
thing, for surely he was no fit match for a young lady 
with a dowry of two hundred thousand dollars. Malgat 
went away in despair, and fully determined to kill him- 
self. Indeed, he was just sitting down to make his will, 
when the door-keeper of the house he lived in came up 
stairs with a letter from Sarah. ‘When a girl like myself 
loves,’ wrote the artful siren, ‘she loves for life, and 
belongs to the man she has chosen, or to nobody. If your 
love be true, if dangers and difficulties terrify you no 
more than they terrify me, knock to morrow night, at ten 
o’clock, at the side gate of the court-yard. I will open it.’ 
Mad with joy and hope, Malgat went to that fatal meeting, 
and Sarah flung her arms round his neck, and exclaimed, 
‘I love you. Let us run away.’ Ah, if he had taken her 
at her word the plot might perhaps have been defeated, for 
she would certainly not have fled with him. But she had 
divined the cashier’s character, his moral as well as his 
material probity, and in making the proposal she knew 
well enough that he would not accept it. Indeed, the poor 
fool said to himself that it would be a mean thing to abuse 
this pure, trustful girl’s attachment, separate her from 
her family, and ruin her forever. So, with wonderful self- 
denial he dissuaded her from taking such a step, and 
induced her to be patient, saying that he would do all he 
could to overcome the obstacles in their way, and that 
time would, no doubt, come to their assistance.” 

Papa Ravinet paused, almost overcome by his own excite- 
ment. At length, when a cup of strong tea and a short 
rest had in some measure restored him, he resumed as 
follows : 

“After leaving that meeting, Malgat was at first unable 
to reason with himself, but later on he realized that there 
was no hope of inducing Sir Tom and Mrs. Brian to consent 


322 


SARAH’S VICTIMS. 


to such a match. There was but one way of securing 
possession of the woman he so madly worshiped, the 
course she had herself suggested — elopement. But then 
he must bid good-by forever to his quiet life, and venture 
upon an unknown future. And besides he had no money. 
How could he expose this heiress, who abandoned every- 
thing for his sake — this beautiful girl, who was accustomed 
to every imaginary luxury — to want and humiliation? 
No ; he could never dare do that. And yet his entire 
available capital did not amount to five thousand francs. 
His fortune was invested in bric-a-brac, and although he 
knew that his collection was worth a considerable amount, 
how could he hope to find a purchaser for it at a moment’s 
notice? For time was pressing. He had seen Sarah 
several times secretly, and on each occasion she had 
appeared more mournful and dejected. She had always 
some distressing news to impart. Mrs. Brian spoke of 
giving her in marriage to a friend of hers. Sir Tom had 
proposed to take her abroad. And with such troubles to 
worry him, the unfortunate cashier had also to attend to 
his daily duties, tens and hundreds of thousands of francs 
constantly passing through his hands, and yet never, I 
swear it, did he once think of abstracting a single half- 
penny. He had determined to sell his collections at any 
price he could get, so as to be ready for flight, when one 
day, a few moments before the office closed, a lady, 
muffled up in a long cloak and wearing a thick vail, 
entered his private room, where as usual he was quite 
alone. She raised her vail, and he recognized Sarah Bran- 
don. Without more ado she told him, in a few words, that 
Sir Tom had found out their secret meetings, and had bid- 
den her to prepare to start for Philadelphia the very next 
morning. The crisis had come. They must choose now 
between two things — they must either fly that same night, 
or separate forever. Ah ! never had Sarah been so beau- 
tiful as at this moment, when she was seemingly maddened 
by grief ; never had her beauty exhaled such a powerful, 
irresistible charm. Her bosom heaved, she spoke in sobs, 
and big tears, like scattered pearls, coursed down her 
pale cheeks. The imminence of the danger extorted from 
Malgat a confession of the reasons that had made him 
hesitate so long. He told her, cruelly humiliated by the 
avowal, that he had no money. ‘No money ? No money V 
she cried, with crushing irony. And when Malgat, more 
ashamed of his poverty than if it had been a crime, blushed 
to the roots of his hair, she pointed to the immense safe, 


SARAH’S VICTIMS. 


323 


full of notes and gold, exclaiming, ‘ Why, what is all 
that ?’ Malgat sprung toward the safe, stretching out hj,s 
arms as if to defend it, and, fairly terrified, asked, ‘What 
are you thinking of? And my honor?’ ‘Well, and mine?’ 
replied Sarah, looking him straight in the face. ‘ Is my 
honor nothing? Am I not going to sacrifice it for you?’ 
She said this in a tone and with a look which would have 
tempted an angel. Malgat fell helplessly into a chair. 
Then she approached him, and with burning, passionate 
glances, resumed, ‘If you loved me really! Ah, if you 
really loved me !’ And then she bent over him, tremulous 
with passion, and their lips almost met. ’If you loved me 
as I love you, ’ she whispered again. It was all over ; 
Malgat was lost. He drew Sarah toward him, and kissing 
her, replied, ’Very well, then ; yes !’ At once she disen- 
gaged herself, and eagerly seizing one parcel of bank- 
notes after another, packed them into a little morocco bag 
she held in her hand. At last, when the bag was full, she 
said, ‘Now we are safe. To-night, at ten o’clock, be at the 
gate of the court-yard with a vehicle. To-morrow, at 
daybreak, we shall be beyond the frontier. Now we are 
bound to each other forever — and remember I love you !’ 
So saying she turned to leave, and he let her go.” 

The old dealer had now become ghastly white, and large 
drops of perspiration trickled down his cheeks. After 
swallowing another cup of tea at a gulp, he continued, with 
a bitter laugh : 

“You suppose, no doubt, that when Sarah had left him 
Malgat came to himself again ? By no means. It seemed 
as if the infamous creature had inspired him with her own 
genius for evil. Far from repenting, he rejoiced over 
what had been done, and when he learned that, on the 
following day, the directors would meet to examine the 
books, he positively laughed at the thought of the faces 
they would make, for as I told you he was mad. With all 
the coolness of a hardened thief, he calculated the total 
amount that had been abstracted. It was four hundred 
thousand francs. Then, so as to conceal the true state of 
things, he took his books, and with almost diabolical 
skill, altered the figures, and changed the entries, so as 
to make it appear as if the defalcation was of long stand- 
ing, and as if various sums had been abstracted during 
several successive months. When he had finished his 
fearful task he wrote the chairman a hypocritical letter, 
in which he stated that he had robbed the safe in order to 
pay his differences at the Bourse, and that being unable to 


324 


SARAH’S VICTIMS. 


conceal his crime any longer he was going to commit sui- 
cide. When this was done he left his office, as if nothing 
had happened. The proof that he acted under the influ- 
ence of a species of hallucination is that he didn’t feel the 
slightest remorse or fear. Thinking it best not to return 
home or to incumber himself with luggage, he dined at 
a restaurant, spent a few minutes at a cafe, and then 
posted his letter to the chairman, so that it might reach 
him early in the morning. At ten o’clock he knocked at 
the little gate of the house in the Rue du Cirque, and to 
his surprise a servant opened it, and mysteriously told 
him to go up stairs, as the young lady was waiting for 
him. On hearing this Malgat was seized with a terrible 
presentiment ; still, he had strength and nerve enough to 
enter the drawing-room on the first floor, where he found 
Sarah and Maxime de Brevan sitting side by side on a sofa. 
They were laughing so loud that Malgat could hear them 
as he went up stairs. ‘Ah!’ said Sarah, as soon as he 
entered, ‘it’s you? Well, what do you want now?’ Such 
a reception ought surely to have opened Malgat’s eyes; 
but, no ! and he was beginning to stammer out some 
explanation, when she interrupted him, saying, ‘Let us 
speak frankly. You come to run away with me, don’t 
you? Well, that’s simply nonsense. Look at yourself, 
my friend, and tell me if a girl like myself can be in 
love with a man like you ? As for that small loan, it does 
not pay me, I assure you, by half, for the sublime little 
comedy I have had to play. Believe me, at all events, 
when I tell you that I have taken every precaution so as 
not to be troubled by anything you may say or do. And 
now, sir, I wish you good-evening ; or must I go?’ Ah! 
she might have continued speaking a long time yet, and 
Malgat would not have thought of interrupting her. The 
fearful truth broke all of a sudden upon him. He realized 
the enormity of the crime ; he discerned its fatal conse- 
quences, and knew he was ruined. The voice of con- 
science clamored noisily: ‘You are a thief You are a 
forger! You are dishonored!’ However, when he saw 
Sarah rise to leave the room he felt so enraged that he 
sprang forward, exclaiming, ‘Yes, I am lost, but you shall 
die A Sarah Brandon !’ Poor fool ! he did not reflect that 
these wretches had, of course, foreseen his wrath, and 
were prepared for the emergency. With the suppleness 
of one of those lost children of the gutter among whom 
she had formerly lived, Sarah escaped from Malgat’s 
grasp, and by a clever trick threw him into an arm-chair. 


SABAH'S VICTIMS. 


325 


Before he could rise again he was held fast by Maxime de 
Brevan and Sir Tom, who, having heard the noise, rushed 
in from the adjoining room. Malgat did not attempt to 
resist. What would have been the use ? And besides a 
faint hope was dawning in his mind. It seemed to him 
impossible that such a monstrous wrong could be perpe- 
trated with impunity, and lie fancied he would only have 
to reveal the truth to have the whole clique properly 
punished. ‘Let me go!’ he said at last. ‘I must go !’ 
But they did not allow him to leave as yet. They guessed 
what was transpiring in his mind, and Sir Tom coolly 
asked him, ‘Where do you think of going? Do you mean 
to denounce us? Have a care ! You would only sacrifice 
yourself, without doing us any harm. If you think you 
can use Sarah’s letter, in which she appoints a meeting 
with you, as a weapon against us, you are mistaken. She 
did not write it herself ; and, moreover, she can prove an 
alibi. You see we have prepared everything for this busi- 
ness during the last three months, and nothing has been 
left to chance. Don’t forget that I have commissioned 
you at least twenty times to buy or sell for me at the 
Bourse, and that the transactions were always carried 
on in your name, at my request. How can you say you 
did not speculate at the Bourse?’ The poor cashier’s 
heart sank within him. Had he not himself, for fear of 
suspicion falling upon Sarah Brandon, told the directors 
in his letter to them that he had been tempted by unlucky 
speculations ? Had he not altered the entries in his books 
in order to prove this assertion? Would they believe 
him if he were now to tell the truth ? While fie was 
thinking Sir Tom went on, ‘ Have you forgotten the let- 
ters you wrote to me for the purpose of borrowing money, 
and in which you confess your defalcations ? Here they 
are. You can read them.’ These letters, M. Champcey, 
w r ere those which Sarah showed you, and on seeing them 
Malgat was frightened out of his wits. He had never 
written such letters, and yet there was his handwriting, 
imitated with such amazing perfection that he began to 
doubt his own senses. However, he realized that no one 
would look upon them as forgeries. Ah ! Maxime de 
Brevan is an admirable caligraphic artist, as his letter to 
the Ministry of Marine has, no doubt, proved it to you. 
To resume, however. While Malgat sat there well nigh 
stupefied, Sarah began to speak. ‘ Look here, ’ said she, 
‘I’ll give you some advice. Here are ten thousand francs ; 
take them, and run for your life. It is still time to take 


326 


SARAH’S VICTIMS. 


the train for Brussels.’ But Malgat rose to his feet, 
exclaiming, ‘No ! There is nothing left for me but to die. 
May my blood fall upon you !’ And then he rushed out 
with the laughter of those wretches ringing in his ears.” 

Daniel and Henriette had been unable to repress a shud- 
der of horror while listening to these last particulars, and 
Mme. Bertolle seemed utterly overcome. However, Papa 
Ravinet raised his voice once more, speaking this time 
with evident haste. 

“ Whether Malgat committed suicide or not,” said he, - 
“ he was never heard of again. The trial came on, and he 
was condemned by default to ten years’ penal servitude. 
Sarah, also, was examined by a magistrate, but she trans- 
formed her examination into a victory. And that was 
everything. This crime, one of the most atrocious ever 
conceived by human wickedness, went to swell the long 
list of unpunished outrages. The thieves triumphed 
impudently in broad daylight. They had four hundred 
thousand francs, and could have retired from business. 
But no. Twenty thousand francs a year was far too little 
for them. They accepted this fortune as an installment 
on account, while waiting for a fresh victim. Unfor- 
tunately for them, they could not at first find one. Their 
establishment was mounted upon a most expensive foot- 
ing. M. de Brevan had, of course, claimed his share of 
the spoils ; Sir Tom was a gambler ; Sarah loved dia- 
monds ; and even grim Mrs. Brian had her own private 
vices. In short, these 400,000 francs had almost been 
expended when Sarah discovered another prey. This time 
her victim was a handsome young man, scarcely out of 
his teens, of a generous and chivalrous nature. He was 
an orphan, and had come from his native province with a 
heart full of illusions, and half a million of francs in his 
pocket. His name was Charles de Kergrist. Maxime 
managed to introduce him to the house in the Rue du 
Cirque. He saw Sarah, and was dazzled by her beauty. 
He fell madly in love with her, and was lost at once. Ah ! 
He didn’t last long. At the end of five months his half 
million was in Sarah’s hands. And when he hadn’t a sou 
left she well-nigh forced him to write her three forged 
drafts, swearing that on the day they became due she 
would take them up herself. But when that day came, 
and he called at the Rue du Cirque, he was received just 
as Malgat had been received. He was told that the for- 
gery had been discovered— that a complaint had been 
lodged with the Public Prosecutor, and that he was ruined. 


SARAH’S VICTIMS. 


327 


They also offered him money to escape. Poor Kergrist ! 
They had not miscalculated the effects of this statement. 
He came of a family in which a keen sense of honor had 
been hereditary for many generations, and did not hesitate. 
As soon as he left the house he hanged himself outside 
Sarah’s window, thinking that this course would expose 
the woman who had ruined him to public censure. Poor 
boy ! They had deceived him. He was not dishonored. 
The forgery had never been discovered ; in fact, the drafts 
had never been used at all. A careful investigation 
revealed nothing against Sarah Brandon ; but the scandal 
of the suicide diminished her prestige. She felt it, and 
giving up her more inordinate dreams of greatness she 
thought of marrying a wealthy fool, M. Gordon-Chalusse, 
when Sir Tom spoke to her of the Count de Ville-Handry. 
In fortune, rank, and age the count was exactly what 
Sarah had so often dreamed of, and so she pounced upon 
him at once. You know well enough, M. Champcey, how 
the old gentleman was drawn to the Rue du Cirque, 
insnared, intoxicated, and led on to marry this advent- 
uress. But you are ignorant so far of the fact that this 
marriage brought discord into the camp. M. de Brevan 
would not hear of it, and it was in hopes of preventing it 
that he spoke to you so frankly of Sarah Brandon. When 
you went to ask his advice he was on bad terms with her ; 
she had turned him off, and refused to give him any more 
money. And he was so mortally offended that he would 
even have betrayed her to the legal officials, if he had 
known how to do so without inculpating himself. After- 
ward, when de Brevan saw that Sarah was positively 
determined to marry M. de Ville-Handry, you were the 
very person to reconcile them again, inasmuch as you gave 
Maxime an opportunity of rendering Sarah a great serv- 
ice. He did not then anticipate that she would ever fall in 
love with you, and in her turn succumb to one of those 
desperate passions which she had so often kindled in others 
for her own pecuniary advantage. This discovery made 
him furious, and Sarah’s love, and Maxime’s rage, will 
explain to you the- double plot that has been going on. 
Sarah loved you, and wanted to get rid of Henriette, who 
was your betrothed, while Maxime, stung by jealousy, did 
all he could to hasten your death.” 

Overcome with fatigue, Papa Ravinet now fell back in 
his chair, and remained silent for more than five minutes. 
Then making a final effort, he exclaimed : 

“Now, let us sum up. I know how Sarah, Sir Tom, and 


328 


“I DEFY YOU ALL !” 


Mrs. Brian went to work to rob the Count de Ville-Han- 
dry, and ruin him. I know what they have done with the 
millions which they report have been lost in speculations, 
and I have the proofs in my hand. * Therefore, I can ruin 
them, without reference to their other crimes. Crochard’s 
affidavit alone suffices to ruin M. de Brevan, and the two 
Chevassats, husband and wife have caught themselves by 
keeping the four thousand francs ycu sent to Mile. Henri- 
ette. We have them safe, the wretches ! The hour of 
vengeance has come at last.” 

Henriette did not let him conclude. 

“ And my father, sir, my father ?” she exclaimed. 

“M. Champcey will save him, madam.” 

Daniel, who was deeply moved, now asked : 

“ What am I to do ?” 

“You must call on the Countess Sarah, and look as if 
you had forgotten what has happened, especially as if you 
had forgotten all about Mile. Henriette.” 

The young officer flushed crimson, and stammered in 
reply : 

“ But I can't play such a part as that — I should never 
know how to.” 

But Henriette laid her hand on his shoulder, and giving 
him a searching look, quietly asked : 

“ Have you any reasons for hesitating ?” 

He hung his head, and answered : 

“Well, I will go.” 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

“i DEFY YOU ALL!” 

It was two o’clock in the afternoon when Daniel 
alighted from a cab in front of the offices of the Pennsyl- 
vania Petroleum Company — 79 Rue Lepelletier — above 
which the Count de Ville Handry now resided. On inquir- 
ing of a clerk he learned that the “ chairman” was in his 
rooms, on the third floor. He went up stairs, rang at the 
door, and was ushered in by Clarisse, the pious maid who 
had betrayed poor Henriette. As Daniel was conducted 
through the dark anteroom he could not help noticing an 
offensive smell from the kitchen, and was surprised, 
indeed, to find such an aristocratic nobleman as M. de 
Ville-Handry living in such questionable quarters. The 
count was in the sitting-room, leaning over an immense 
table, covered with papers. He had greatly aged. His 


'I DEFY YOU ALL !’ 


329 


pendant under lip imparted an almost idiotic expression 
to his features, and his bleared, watery eyes told a strange 
tale. Still he had not given up his attempts at rejuven- 
escence, for he was rouged and dyed as carefully as ever. 
On recognizing Daniel, he pushed back his papers ; and 
offering the young officer his hand, as if they had parted 
on friendly terms the day before, he said : 

“Ah,, so here you are back among us again ! Upon my 
word, I am very glad to see you. We know what you 
have been doing out there, fdr my wife sent me again and 
again to the Ministry of Marine to see if there were any 
news of you. And you have become an officer of the 
Legion of Honor. You ought to be pleased.” 

“Fortune has favored me, count.” 

“Alas! I am sorry I cannot say as much for myself,” 
replied M. de Ville-Handry, with a sigh. “ You must be 
surprised,” he continued, “to find me living in such a 

dog’s kennel, I who formerly But so it goes. ‘The 

ups and downs of speculation, ’ says Sir Tom. Look here, 
my dear Daniel, let me give you a piece of advice — never 
speculate in industrial enterprises. Nowadays it is mere 
gambling, furious gambling, and everybody cheats his 
neighbor. If you stake a single napoleon you are in for 
everything. That’s my story, and yet I thought I might 
enrich my country by a new source of revenue. On the 
first day I issued shares speculators got hold of them, and 
they have crushed me over and over again, till my whole* 
fortune has been spent in useless efforts to keep up the 
market value. And yet Sir Tom says I have fought as 
bravely on this slippery ground as my ancestors ever did 
in the lists.” At frequent intervals the unfortunate old 
man passed his hand over his face, as if trying to drive 
away painful thoughts, and at last he went on in a differ- 
ent tone of voice : “ However, I am far from complaining. 
My misfortunes have been the source of the purest, highest 
domestic happiness. It is to them I owe the knowledge of 
my wife’s devotion ; they have taught me how dearly 
Sarah loves me. I alone can tell what treasures are con- 
tained in that angelic heart, which slanderers dared to 
calumniate. Ah, 1 think I can hear her now when I told 
her one evening how embarrassed I had become in finan- 
cial matters. ‘To have concealed that from me!’ she 
exclaimed, ‘from me, your wife; that was very wrong. ’ 
And the very next day she snowed me her sublime cour- 
age. She sold her diamonds to bring me the proceeds, and 
gave her whole fortune up to me. And since we have been 


330 


“I DEFY YOU ALL !” 


living here she goes out on foot, like a simple citizen’s 
wife, and more than once I have caught her preparing our 
modest meals with her own hands.” While the count 
spoke tears streamed down his lurrowed cheeks, leaving 
ghastly lines on the rouged and whitened surface. “And 
I,” he resumed, in a tone of despair, “I could not reward 
her for such love and so many sacrifices. How did I com- 
pensate her for being my only consolation, my joy, my sole 
happiness in life. I ruined her; I impoverished her. If 
I were to die to-morrow she would be penniless.” 

Daniel trembled. 

“Ah, count,” he exclaimed, “don’t speak of dying ! Men 
like you live a hundred years.” 

But the old man lowered his voice, and rejoined : 

“You see, I have not yet told you everything. But you 
are my friend, and I know I can open my heart to you. I 
did not have the — the — cleverness to overcome all the 
restrictions which hamper this kind of business. I was 
imprudent, in spite of all Sir Tom’s warnings. To-morrow 
there will be a meeting of the shareholders, and if they do 
not grant me w r hat I shall have to ask of them I may be in 
trouble. And when a man calls himself the Count de 
Ville-Handry, rather than appear in court — you know 
what I mean !” 

At this moment he was interrupted by one of his clerks, 
^who brought him a letter. He glanced at it, and then 
"replied : 

“Tell them I am coming.” And turning again to Daniel 
he added, “I must leave you; but the countess is at 
home, and she would never forgive me if I did not let you 
present your respects to her. Come ! But be careful and 
don’t say a word of my troubles. It would kill her.” 
Before Daniel could recover from his bewilderment the 
count had opened a door and pushed him into an inner 
room, exclaiming, “Sarah, here is M. Champcey.” 

The countess started up as if she had received an electric 
shock. Her husband had left them, but even if he had 
been still in the room she would probably not have been 
able to control herself. 

“ You !” she cried, “Daniel ! my Daniel l” And turning 
to Mrs. Brian, who was sitting by the window, she said, 
“Leave us.” 

“Your conduct is perfectly shocking, Sarah,” began the 
grim lady. But the counted interrupted her, as harshly 
as if she had been speaking to a servant, saying, “You are 
in the way, and I must request you to leave the room.” 


“I DEFY YOU ALL!” 


331 


Mrs. Brian did so without another word, and Sarah sank 
into an arm-chair as if overcome by sudden good fortune. 
Her eyes were fixed on Daniel, who stood motionless in the 
center of the room. She wore a simple black merino 
dress ; there was no jewelry whatever about her person, 
but her marvelous, fatal beauty seemed all the more daz- 
zling. The years had passed without leaving any more 
traces on her feautres f;han the spring breeze leaves on an 
expanding rose. Her hair still gleamed with golden rays ; 
her rosy lips smiled sweetly, and her velvet eyes were as 
caressing as ever. Once before Daniel had been thus alone 
with her, and at the recollection he began to tremble. 
Then, thinking of his purpose, and the treacherous part he 
was about to play, he felt a desire to escape. It was she 
who broke the charm. 

“I presume you know,” said she, “all about the misfor- 
tunes that have befallen us. Your betrothed, Henriette ? 
Has the count told you ?” 

Daniel had taken a chair. 

‘•The count said nothing about his daughter,” he 
replied. 

“Well, then, my saddest presentiments have been ful- 
filled. Unhappy girl ! I did what I could to keep her in 
the right path. But she fell, step by step, and finally so 
low, that one day, when a ray of sense reached her mind 
she went and killed herself.” 

It was done. Sarah had overcome Daniel’s last linger- 
ing hesitation. Now he was in the right temper to meet 
cunning with cunning. So with admirably feigned 
indifference he answered, “Ah !” And, encouraged bylhe 
joyous surprise he read in Sarah’s eyes, he proceeded, 
“This expedition has cost me dear. Count de Ville-Han- 
dry has just informed me that he has lost his whole fort- 
une, and I’m in the same condition.” 

“ What ! You are ” 

“Ruined. Yes; that’s to say, I have been robbed — 
robbed of every sou I ever had. On the eve of my depart- 
ure I intrusted property worth three or four hundred 
thousand francs — in fact, all I ever possessed — to M. de 
Brevan, with orders to hold it at Mile. Henriette’s dis- 
posal. He found it easier to appropriate the whole to him- 
self. So, you see, I am reduced to my pay as a lieuten- 
ant, which isn’t much.” 

Sarah looked at Daniel with perfect amazement. In any 
other man this prodigious confidence in a friend would 


332 


“I DEFY YOU ALL !” 


have appeared to her the height of human folly ; in Daniel 
she thought it sublime. 

“Is that the reason why they have arrested M. de Ere- 
van?” she asked. 

Daniel had not heard of his former friend’s arrest. 

“What ! said he, “Maxime ” 

“Was arrested last night, and is kept in close confine- 
ment.” 

However well Papa Ravinet had prepared Daniel for 
this interview, he could never have hoped to manage the 
conversation as well as chance did. 

“It can’t be for having robbed me,” he replied. “M. 
de Brevan must have been arrested for having attempted 
to murder me.” 

A lioness just robbed of her whelps could not rise with 
greater fury in her eyes than Sarah did when she heard 
these words. 

“What !” she cried, “he dared to touch you !” 

“Not personally; oh, no ! But he hired a felon, who 
was caught, and has confessed everything. I suppose the 
order to apprehend my friend Maxime reached here before 
me although it left Saigon some time later than I did.” 

Might not M. de Brevan be as cowardly as Crochard 
when he saw that all was lost ? This idea, one would 
think, should have made Sarah tremble. 

But it never occurred to her. 

“Ah, the wretch !” she repeated. “The scoundrel, the 
rascal !” And sitting down by Daniel’s side she asked 
him to give her all the particulars of this thrice-repeated 
attempt at murder, from which he had so miraculously 
escaped. 

The countess never doubted for a moment but that Dan- 
iel was as madly in love with her as Planix, Malgat, Ker- 
grist, and all the others had been, for she had grown so 
accustomed to find her beauty irresistible. How could it 
have occurred to her that this man, the very first whom 
she sincerely loved, should also be the first and only one 
to escape her snares? She was, moreover, additionally 
deceived by the double mirage of love and absence. Dur- 
ing those two years she had so often thought of Daniel, so 
constantly lived with him in her mind, that she mistook 
the illusion of her desires for reality, and was no longer 
able to distinguish between her dreams and the real fact. 

In the meantime he described to her his present position, 
lamenting over the treachery by which he had been 
ruined, and adding, how hard he would find it to begin 


“I DEFY YOU ALL!” 


333 


life anew at his age. And she, generally so clear-sighted, 
was not surprised to find that this man, who had been 
disinterestedness itself, should all of a sudden deplore his 
losses so bitterly, and value money so highly. 

“Why don’t you marry a rich woman !” she suddenly 
asked him. 

With a perfection of affected candor he would not have 
thought himself capable of the day before, he instantly 
replied : 

“What? Do you — you, Sarah — give me such advice?” 

He said this so naturally, and with such an air of 
aggrieved surprise that she was as delighted as if he had 
made her the most passionate avowal. 

“You love me? Do you really, really love me?” she 
asked, but before Daniel could reply the servant was heard 
turning the handle of the door outside. “ Go now,” added 
the countess, in an undertone. “You shall know to-mor- 
row whom I have chosen for you. Come and breakfast 
with us at eleven o’clock. Now go.” And kissing him on 
his lips till they burned with unholy fire she pushed him 
out of the room. 

He staggered like a drunken man as he went down the 
stairs. 

“ I am playing an abominable game,” he said to himself. 
“ She does love me ! What a woman !” 

To rouse him from his stupor, nothing less than the 
sight of Papa Ravinet was needed. The old dealer was 
ensconced inside Daniel’s cab. 

“ Why, how are you here ?” asked the young officer. 

“Why, I thought I might be useful — and, indeed, if it 
hadn’t been for me, the count would have detained you and 
prevented you from seeing Sarah alone. So I came to 
your rescue by sending him up a letter. Now, tell me 
everything. !!_ 

While they were driving along Daniel repeated his con- 
versation with the count and Sarah, and when he had con- 
cluded the old dealer exclaimed : 

“We have the whole matter in our hands now. But 
there is not a minute to lose. Go back to the hotel, and 
wait for me there. I must go to the Public Prosecutor. ” 

At the hotel Daniel found Henriette dying with anxiety. 
Still she only asked after her father. Was it pride, or 
was it prudence ? At all events, she did not mention Sarah’s 
name. They did not, however, have much time for con- 
versation, for Papa Ravinet came back sooner than 
expected, and looked particularly excited. He drew 


334 


“I DEFY YOU ALL !” 


Daniel aside to give him his last directions, and did not 
leave till midnight, w hen he went away, exclaiming : 

“ The ground is burning under our feet ; be punctual 
to-morrow.” 

At the appointed time Daniel presented himself in the 
Rue Lepelletier, where the count received him like the day 
before. 

u Ah !” he exclaimed, “you come just in time. Mrs. 
Brian is away ; Sir Tom is out on business ; and I shall 
have to leave you directly after dejeuner. You must 
keep the countess company. Come, Sarah, let us sit 
down.” 

It was an ill-omened repast. The count was ghastly 
pale under his paint, and was constantly trembling from 
head to foot. The countess affected an air of child-like 
happiness, but her sharp and sudden gestures betrayed 
the storm which was raging in her heart. Daniel noticed 
that she incessantly filled the count’s glass with strong 
wine, and that in order to make him take more she herself 
drank an unusual quantity. Just as it struck twelve the 
Count de Ville-Handry got up. 

“Well,” he said, with the air and the voice of a man 
preparing to mount the scaffold, “it must be done ; they 
are waiting for me.” 

And after kissing his wife with passionate tenderness 
he shook hands with Daniel, and hurried out ofthe room. 
Sarah, whose cheeks were all aglow, had also risen, and 
remained for a minute listening attentively. When she 
was quite sure that the count had gone down stairs she 
exclaimed : 

“ Now, Daniel, look at me ! Need I tell you what woman 
I havo chosen for you ? It is— I. ” 

He trembled as he heard her speak, but making a 
supreme effort to control himself he succeeded in forcing a 
smile to his face, and answered, with mingled tenderness 
and irony : 

“ Why ! why speak to me of unattainable happiness ? Are 
you not married ?” 

“ I may be a widow.” 

These words had a fearful meaning, coming from her 
lips. But Daniel was prepared for them, and merely 
rejoined : 

“To be sure you may. But, unfortuantely, you are 
ruined. You are as poor as I am, and we are too clever 
to think of uniting poverty with poverty.” 

She looked at him with a strange, sinister smile. She 


“I DEFY YOU ALL !” 


335 


was evidently hesitating. A last ray of reason faintly 
showed her the abyss at her feet. But pride and passion 
won the day. Besides, she had taken too much wine, and 
her usually cool head was in a state of delirium. 

“And if I were not ruined ?” she asked at last, *‘ what 
would you say then ?” 

“ I should say that you are the very woman an ambitious 
man of thirty might dream of in his most glorious 
visions.” 

She believed him. Yes, she really believed that what 
he said was true ; so, throwing aside all restraint she 
resumed : 

“Well, then, I will tell you. I am rich — immensely 
rich. The fortune which once belonged to the Count de 
Ville-Handry, and which he thinks has been lost in 
unlucky speculations — the whole of it is in my hands. Ah, 
I have suffered horribly to have to play the loving wife to 
this decrepit old man during two long years. But I thought 
of you, my Daniel ; and that thought sustained me. I knew 
you would come back, and I wanted to have treasures to 
give you. And I have them. Those coveted millions are 
mine, and you are here, and now I can say to you, ‘Take 
them, they are yours ; I give them to you like I give 
myself.” 

She had drawn herself up to her full height as she 
spoke these words, and she looked splendid and fearful at 
the same time, as she shook her head defiantly, till her 
golden hair became loosened, and streamed over her 
shoulders. 

Daniel felt as if his reason was giving way. Still he 
had sufficient strength to answer : 

“But unfortunately you are not yet a widow.” 

“Not a widow !” she retorted, in a strident voice. “Do 
you know what the Count de Ville-Handry is doing at this 
moment ? He is beseeching his shareholders to relieve 
him from the effects of his management. If they refuse he 
will be brought up in court, and tried as a defaulter. 
Well, I tell you they will refuse, for among the largest 
shareholders there are three who belong to me ; I have 
bribed them to refuse. What do you think the count will 
do when he finds himself dishonored and disgraced ? I 
can tell you that, for I watched him write his will, and 
load his revolver.” 

At that moment they both heard the outer door of the 
apartment open. Sarah turned as pale as death itself, and 
clutching hold of Daniel’s arm she whispered : 


336 


“I DEFY i T OU ALL !” 


“Listen !” 

Heavy steps were heard in the adjoining room, then — 
nothing more. 

“It is he !” she whispered again. “Our fate is hanging 
in the scales ” 

She had scarcely spoken when a loud report was heard, 
making the windows rattle. For an instant she almost 
writhed in a convulsive spasm, and then with a great 
effort she shrieked : 

“ Free at last, Daniel ; we are free !” 

And rushing to the door she opened it. 

She opened it, and uttered a cry of terror. For on the 
threshold stood the Count de Ville-Handry, with distorted 
features, and holding a smoking revolver in his hand : 

“No,” he said, “Sarah, no, you are not free !” 

Livid, and with her eyeballs starting from their sockets, 
the wretched woman had shrunk back to a door opening 
from the dining-room into her bed- chamber. She was not 
despairing yet. She was plainly trying to think of one 
of those almost incredible excuses which are at times 
accepted by credulous old men when violent passions seize 
them in their dotage. However, she abandoned the 
thought, when the count stepped forward, allowing Papa 
Ravinet to be seen behind him. 

“Malgat !” she cried, “Malgat !” 

And so saying she held out her hands before her as if to 
defend herself from a ghost. But there w~as more to come, 
for, behind Malgat, Henriette could now be seen leaning on 
Mme. Bertolle’s arm. 

“She also,” muttered Sarah, “she, too !” 

The terrible truth at last dawned on her mind ; she saw 
the snare in which she had been caught, and felt that she 
was lost. So turning to Daniel she exclaimed : 

“ Poor man ! Who made you do this ? It was not in 
your loyal heart to plan such treachery against a woman. 
Are you mad ? And don’t you know, that for the privilege 
of being loved by me as I love you, and were it only for a 
day, Malgat would again rob his employers, and the count 
once more sacrifice his millions, and even honor itself ?” 

She said this, but at the same time she had slipped one 
of her hands behind her, and was feeling for the knob of 
the door. At last she grasped it, and instantly disappeared 
into her bedroom before any one could prevent her. 

“Never mind !” said Malgat. “All the outer doors are 
guarded.” 

But she had not meant to escape. There she was again 


“I DEFY YOU ALL !” 


337 


pale and yet defiant. Glancing around her, she exclaimed, 
almost mockingly : 

“I have loved, and now I can die. That is just I have 
loved. Ah ! Planix, Malgat, and Kergrist ought to have 
taught me what becomes of those who really love. Then 
looking at Daniel, she went on, “And you — you will know 
what you have lost when I am no more. I may die, but 
the memory of my love will never die ; it will rankle in 
your heart like a wound which opens afresh every day, 
and the soreness of which steadily increases. You triumph 
now, Henriette, but remember that between your lips and 
Daniel’s there will forever rise the shadow of Sarah Bran- 
’don.” As she uttered these last words she swiftly raised 
a small vial to her lips, imbibed the contents at one gulp, 
and sinking into a chair spoke 'for the last time. “Now I 
defy you all !” 

“ Ah, she escapes us !” exclaimed Malgat, “ she escapes 
from justice !” 

And so saying he rushed forward as if to try and pre- 
vent her from effecting her purpose, but Daniel caught him 
by the arm, and said : 

“ Let her die.” 

She was already writhing in horrible convulsions, and 
the penetrating smell of bitter almonds, which slowly per- 
vaded the room, told but too plainly that the poison she 
had taken was one from which there is no rescue. She 
was carried to her bed, and in less than ten minutes she 
was dead, without having uttered another word. 

Henriette and Mrs. Bertolle were kneeling piously beside 
the bed, and the count was sobbing in a corner of the 
room, when an inspector of police entered. 

“The woman Brian is not to be found,” he said, “ but 
Elgin has been arrested. Where is the Countess de Ville- 
Handry?” 

Daniel pointed to the body. 

“Dead!” exclaimed the officer. “Then I have nothing 
more to do here.” 

He was going out when Malgat detained him. 

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the old fellow. “I wish 
to state that I am not Ravinet, dealer in curiosities, but 
that my true name is Malgat, formerly cashier of the 
Mutual Discount Society, and sentenced by default to ten 
years’ penal servitude. I am ready to be tried, and place 
myself in your hands.” 


338 


MALGAT’S WEDDING GIFT. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

MALGAT’S WEDDING GIFT. 

The magistrate from Saigon saw his hopes fulfilled, 
and, thanks to his promotion, was commissioned to preside 
at the trial of the case, which he had so ably investigated. 
After the jury had returned a verdict of guilty he sentenced 
Justin Chevassat, alias Maxime de Brevan, to penal servi- 
tude for life. Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, got off with 
twenty years, and the two Chevassats escaped with half 
that term of solitary confinement. The trial of Thomas 
Elgin, which came on during the same session, revealed 
a system of swindling so bold and daring that it appeared 
at first sight almost incredible. Especial surprise was 
evinced by the Parisians when it was shown that he had 
issued false shares of the Pennsylvania Petroleum Com- 
pany, and had induced M. de Ville-Handry to buy them in 
as genuine ones — thus ruining, by the same process, the 
count as a private individual, and the company over which 
he presided. Elgin was sentenced to twenty years’ soli- 
tary confinement. 

These scandalous proceedings had one good result. They 
saved the poor count’s honor, but they revealed, at the 
same time, such prodigious unfitness for business on his 
part that people began to suspect how dependent he must 
have been in former times on his first wife, Henriette’s 
mother. He remained, however, relatively poor. Thomas 
Elgin had been made to refund, and possession had even 
been obtained of Sarah Brandon’s fortune, but the count 
was called upon to make amends for his want of business 
capacity. When he had satisfied all his creditors, and 
handed over to his daughter a part of her maternal inher- 
itance, he had hardly more than thirty thousand francs a 
year left. Of the whole “ clique” grim Mrs. Brian alone 
escaped. 

Malgat, having surrendered to justice within the pre- 
scribed limits of time, was tried anew. The matter was 
naturally a mere formality. His own advocate had very 
little to say, for the Public Prosecutor himself presented 
the unfortunate cashier’s defense, and after fully explain- 
ing the circumstances which had led him to permit a crime, 
rather than to commit it himself, he said to the jury : 


MALGAT’S WEDDING GIFT. 


339 


“Now. gentlemen, that you know what was Malgat’ s 
offense, you must learn how he expiated that crime. 
When he left the miserable woman who had ruined him, 
maddened by grief, and determined to kill himself, he went 
home, where he found his sister, one of those women who 
have religiously preserved the domestic virtues of our 
forefathers, and who know of no compromise in questions 
of honor. She had soon forced her brother to confess his 
fatal' secret, and overcoming the horror she naturally felt, 
she found in her heart words which moved him, and led 
him to reconsider his determination. She told him that 
suicide was but an additional crime, and that he was, in 
honor, bound to live, so that he might make amends, and 
restore the money he had stolen. Hope once more rose in 
his heart, and filled him with unexpected energy. And 
yet what obstacles he had to overcome ! How would he ever 
be able to refund four hundred thousand francs ? How 
could he manage to earn so much money ? and wliere ? 
How could he do anything at all, now that he was com- 
pelled to live in concealment ? Do you know, gentlemen, 
what his sister did in this terrible emergency? She had a 
moderate income derived from State bonds, all of which 
she sold, taking the proceeds to the chairman of the Mutual 
Discount Society, begging him to be patient as to the 
remainder, and promising that he should be repaid, capital 
and interest alike. She asked for nothing but secrecy, 
and he pledged himself to that. Since that day, gentlemen 
of the jury, the brother and the sister have lived a life of 
incessant toil, denying themselves everything but what 
was indispensable to sustain existence. And to-day Mal- 
gat owes nothing to the Society ; he has paid every sou. 
He fell once, but he has risen again. And the dock of this 
court, where he now sits as a prisoner, will become to him 
a place of honor, for by your decision, gentlemen, you 
will efface all stains from his reputation, and restore him 
to his position in society.” c 

After such a speech Malgat was naturally acquitted. 

In due course Henriette and Daniel were married. At 
the ceremony the bridergoom’s best-men were Malgat and 
the old chief surgeon of the frigate Conquest. Several 
persons noticed that, contrary to usage, the bride wore a 
dress of embroidered muslin. It was the robe which Hen- 
riette had so often covered with her tears, in those days of 
destitution, .when she had fruitlessly tried to live by her 
daily labor. Malgat had hunted it up, and purchased it ; 
it was his wedding-gift. 


340 


MALGAT’S WEDDING GIFT. 


The Count ae Ville-Handry seldom sees his son-in-law. 
He still blames him in his heart for Sarah’s death ; for 
despite everything he heard and saw, he worships her 
still, even beyond the grave. He frequently remarks, with 
tears in his eyes, “ She was slandered. ” But he is the only 
one who can think so. And yet there are mischief-makers 
who would be delighted to revive once more all the infa- 
mous slander which Sarah originated, in hopes of ruining 
Henriette. “Mme. Champcey,” they say, “is certainly a 

charming woman, but it seems that in former days ” 

However, these folks take good care to keep out of the 
way of Daniel and his faithful servant, Lefloch. 


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No. 15— THE VIRGINIA HEIRESS, by Mrs. May Agnes Fleming 25 

No. 14— FLORENCE FALKLAND, by Burke Brentford 25 

No. 13— THE BRIDE-ELECT, by Annie Ashmore 25 

No. 12— THE PHANTOM WIFE, by Mrs. M. V. Victor 25 

No. 11— BADLY MATCHED, by Mrs. Helen Corwin Pierce.. 25 

No. 10— OCTAVIA’S PRIDE, by Charles T. Manners 25 

No. 9— THE WIDOW’S WAGER, by Rose Ashleigh 25 

No. 8 — WILL SHE WIN? by Emma Garrison Jones 25 

Na 7— GRATIA’S TRIALS by Lucy Randall Comfort..,. 25 

No. 6 — A STORMY WEDDING, by Mrs. Mary E. Bryan 25 

No. 5 — BRUNETTE AND BLONDE, by Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller 25 

No. 4— BONNY JEAN, by Mrs. E. Burke Ccllins 25 

No, 3 — VELLA VERNELL; or, AN AMAZING MARRIAGE, by Mrs. Sumner 

Hayden 25 

No. 2— A WEDDED WIDOW, by T. W. Hanshew 25 

No. 1— THE SENATOR’S BRIDE, by Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller 25 

These popular books are large type editions, well printed, well bound, and 
in handsome covers. For sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers ; or sent, 
postage free, on receipt of price, 25 cents each, by the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

25 to 31 Itose Street, New York. 


P, O. Box 2734 



ISSUED WEEKLY. PRICE 5 CENTS PER COPY. 

Sixteen Pages— Profusely Illustrated. 

Stories are constantly running through the columns of Good News 
from the pens of Horatio Alger, Jr., Oliver Optic, Edward S. Ellis, 
James Otis, Max Adeler, George H. Coomer, Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry, 
Wm. H. Thornes, Charles W. Foster, John R. Coryell, Lieut. James K. 
Orton, Walter Morris, W. B. Lawson, Arthur Sewall, Wm. Murray 
Gray don, Philip Reade, W. P. Chipman. 



besides being the best story paper for young people, offers greater in- 
ducements, as the following departments will show: 

EXCHANGE DEPARTMENT.— We devote one column of Good 
News every week for the purpose of allowing our readers to advertise, free 
of ail charge, whatever yoods they might have to exchange. 

HUMANE SOCIETY.— Recognizing the fact that there are alargenum- 
ber of young readers who are never rewarded for risking their lives to save 
others, we have formed the Good News Humane Society, and we present 
to our young life-savers a gold medal suitably engraved. 

PUZZLE CORNER.— We solicit and publish all contributions received 
for this department. 

OUR MAIL BAG.— Under this heading we answer questions on all sub- 
jects, except legal and medical. 

SHORT TALKS WITH THE BOYS.— Questions relating to trades. 
Professions, and Business Pursuits are answered in this department. All 
boys before starting out in life should write for our opinion regarding the 
trade, business, or profession they have a liking for. 

New Attractions Constantly Appearing. 

Subscription, $2.50 a year. Single copies 5 ce*nts. 

To introduce GOOD NEWS we will send as sample copies ten issues , from 
No. 53 to No. 62 inclusive, on receipt of ten cents. Specimen copies sent free 
upon application. 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 31 Rose St., New York. 




THE BEST AND BRIGHTEST! 


UNANIMOUSLY ACKNOWLEDGED TO BE THE 

GREATEST STORY ARC SKETCH PAPER. 

FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS AND NEWSDEALERS 

BY MAIL, $3 A YEAR, POSTAGE EBEE. 


STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

25 to 31 Rose Street, New York, 



94: Miles the Shortest. 8 Hours the Quickest. 

CINCINNATI TO NEW ORLEANS 

Tim© 27 Hours. 

Entire Trains, Baggage Car, Day Coaches and Sleepers run through 

without change. 

110 Miles the Shortest. 7 Hourslthe Qnickest. 

CINCINNATI TO JACKSONVILLE, FLA. 

Time 28 Hours. 

The Only Line running through Sleeping Cars. 

ONLY LINE FROM CINCINNATI TO 

CHATTANOOGA, Tenn., FORT PAYNE, Ala., MERIDIAN, Miss., VICKS- 
BURGH, Miss., SHREVEPORT, La. 

20 Miles the Shortest CINCINNATI TO LEXTNGTON, Ky. 

5 Hours Quickest CINCINNATI to KNOXVILLE, Tenn. 

116 Miles the Shortest CINCINNATI to ATLANTA and AUGUSTA, Ga. 
114 Miles the Shortest CINCINNATI to ANNISTON, Ala. 

26 Miles the Shortest CINCINNATI to BIRMINGHAM. Ala. 

6 Hours Quickest CINCINNATI to MOBILE, Ala. 

Direct connections at New Orleans and Shreveport 

For TEXAS, MEXICO, and CALIFORNIA. 

Trains leave Central Union Depot, Cincinnati, crossing the Famous High 
Bridge of Kentucky, and rounding the base of Lookout Mountain. 

Pullman Boudoir Sleepers on all Through Trains. 

Over One Million Acres of Land in Alabama, the future Great 
State of the South subject to pre-emption. 
Unsurpassed Climate. 

For Rates, Maps, etc., address 

C. C. HARVEY, D. G. EDWARDS, 

General Manager, Gen. Pass. & Tkt. Agt. 

Cincinnati, O. 



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For Suburban Summer Homes 

Business Men Seek the country 
North of the Harlem River 

Including the GREAT CROTON’ WATER SHED, 




on the line of the 


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NEW YORK in 

AND NORTHERN 

RAILWAY 

In Connection with the MANHATTAN 
ELEVATED RAILWAY. 




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ACCESS! BLE, HEALTHFUL, PICTURESQUE. 

Increased Train Service throughout the day, having 
Elevated Express Connection. Makes a Daily Trip to 
and from the City on this line for the tired business 
man, a Pleasure Trip rather than a daily task . 

NEW FIRST-CLASS EQUIPMENT, HARD COAL ENGINES, 

NO SMOKE OR DIRT. 

I 74 IPI A|? ^ will be run on Express Trains to 

V n,vuv;iv v.nrvo pocantico hills, lake 

MAHOPAC AND INTERMEDIATE POINTS. 


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See handsomely illustrated book, descriptive of 
this country, which together with Time Table, list 
of Hotels and Boarding Houses and all necessary 
information can be obtained from 

H. H. VREELAND, GenM Supt. L. M. ALLEN, Gen’l Pass. Agent 

GENERAL OFFICES: 

High bridge, new York city. 


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UK HI! AND 
WESTERN RAILROAD, 

Ft. Wayne, Cincinnati, and Louisville Railroad. 

‘‘Natural Gas Route,” The Popular Short Line 

— BETWEEN — 

Peoria, Bloomington, Chicago, St. Louis, Springfield, Lafayette* 
Frankfort, Muneie, Portland, Lima, Findlay, Fostoria, 
Fremont, Sandusky, Indianapolis, Kokomo, Peru, 
Kochester, Plymouth, LaPorte, Michigan 
City, Fto Wayne, Hartford, Bluffton, 
Connersyille, and Cincinnati, making 
Direct Connections for all Points East, West, North, and South* 


THE ONLY LINE TRAVERSING 

The Great, Natural Gas and Oil Fields 

Of Ohio and Indiana, giving the patrons of this Popular Route an 
opportunity to witnesr the grand sight from the train as they pass 
through. Great fields covered with tanks in which are stored millions 
of gallons of Oil, Natural Gas wells shooting their flames high in the 
air, and the most beautiful cities, fairly alive with glass and all kinds 
of factories. 

Wo furnish our patrons with Elegant Reclining Chair Car Seats Free 
on day trains, and L., E. ^ W. Palace Sleeping and Parlor Cars on night 
trains, at very reasonable rates. 

Direct connections to and from Cleveland, Buffalo, New York, Boston, 
Philadelphia, Baltimore, Pittsburg, Washington, Kansas City, Denver, 
Omaha, Portland, San Francisco, and all points in the United States 
and Canada. 

This is the popular route with the ladies, on account of its courteous 
and accommodating tram officials, and with the commercial traveler 
and general public tor itr comforts, quick time and sure connections. 

For any further particular? call on or address any ticket agent* 

H. c. PARKER, CHAS- F. DALY, 

Traffic Manager, Gen’l Pass. & Tkt. Agt* 

Indianapolis, Ind. 




THE FINEST ON EARTH 


THE ONLY 

Pullman Perfected Safety 


mm TRAIN MICE 

WITH DINING- GAR 


BETWEEN 

CINCINNATI, 

INDIANAPOLIS, 

AND CHICAGO. 


THE FAYORITE LUTE 

CKCIMKATI to ST. LODIS, 

Keokuk, Sprin.gfi.eld, 

and Peoria, 


THE ONLY DIRECT LINE 

BETWEEN 

Cincinnati, Dayton, Findlay, 

Lima, Toledo, Detroit, 

THE LAKE REGIONS and CANADA. 


PULLMAN SLEEPERS ON NIGHT TRAINS. 

Parlor and Chair Cars on Day Trains between Cincinnati and 
Points Enumerated, the Year Round. 

M. D. WOODFORD, E. 0. McCORMICK, 

President and General Manager. General Passenger Agen» 
















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JI?E pi^l/T\!^OSE $EF?I E5 

O F* 

WORLD’S BEST FICTION. 


1 Another Man’s Wife. By Bertha 31. Clay 50 

2 The Belle of the Season. By Mrs. Harriet 

Lewis 50 

3 Doctor Jack. By St. George Bath borne 50 

4 Kathleen Douglas. By Julia Truitt Bishop. .. 50 

5 Her Royal Lover. By Ary Ecilaw 50 

6 Jose. By Otto Buppius 50 

7 His Word of Honor. By E. Werner 50 

8 A Parisian Romance. By Octave FeuiUet 50 

9— A Woman’s Temptation. By Bertha 31. Clay 50 

IO Stella Rosevelt. By Mrs. Georgia Sheldon 50 
I I— Beyond Pardon. By Bertha M. Clay 50 

12 Lost A Pearle. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 50 

13 The Partners. By Alphonse Daudet 50 

14 Sardou’s Cleopatra. By Victorien Sardou 50 

15 The Lone Ranch. By Capt. Mayne Reid 50 

16 Put Asunder. By Bertha 31. Clay 50 

17 A Social Meteor. By dement B. 31 a r ley 50 

18 The Chouans. By Honore de Balzac 50 

19 Sealed Lips. By Leon de Tinseau 50 

20 Between Two Loves. By Bertha 31. Clay ... 50 

21 Coralie’s Son. By Albert Delpit 50 

22 Martha, the Parson’s Daughter. By W. 

Helmburg 50 

23 Jack. By Alphonse Daudet . . 50 

24 The Master of Ettersberg. By E, Werner.. 50 

25 Germinie Lacerteux. By E. k .1. de Goncourt 50 

26 Under a Shadow. By Bertha 31. Clay 50 

27 The Price He Paid. By E. Werner 50 

28 The Earl’s Atonement. By Bertha 31. Clay.. 50 

29 Sister Philomene. By E. and J. de Goncourt.. 50 

30 Repented at Leisure. By Bertha 31 . Clay 50 


THE BBI31BDSE SEB1ES combines the highest art of book- 
making with the best fiction that can be obtained. For sale by all 
Booksellers and Newsdealers; or sent, postpaid, on receipt of price, by 
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS’, 

P. O. BOX 2734. 25-31 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK, 


5f?e 5^ret 5^ruiee Series. 


No. 46— THE DETECTIVE’S TRIUMPH. By Emile Gaboriau 25 

No. 46— THE DETECTIVE’S DILEMMA. By Emile Gaboriau 25 

No. 44— THE RED LOTTERY TICKET. By Fortune Du Boisgobey 25 

No. 43— THE CHAMPDOCE MYSTERY. By Emile Gaboriau 25 

No. 42— CAUGHT JN THE NET. By Emile Gaboriau 25 

No. 41— MABEL SEYMOUR. By Charles Matthew 25 

No. 40— RUBE BURROWS’ LEAGUE. By Marline Manly 25 

No. 39— THE VESTIBULE LIMITED MYSTERY. By Alex. Robertson, M.D. 25 

No. 38— THE LOS. HUECOS MYSTERY. By Eugene T. Sawyer 25 

No. 37— A WOMAN’S HAND. By Nick Carter 25 

No. 36 — THE GREAT TRAVERS CASE. By Dr. Mark Merrick 25 

No. 35— MUERTALMA ; or, The Poisoned Pin. By Marmaduke Dey 25 

No. 34— DETECTIVE BOB BRIDGER. By R. M. Taylor 25 

No. 33— OLD SPECIE. By Alex. Robertson. M. D 95 

No. 32— ADVENTURES AND EXPLOITS OF THE YOUNGER BROTHERS. By 

Henry Dale 25 

No. 31— A CHASE ROUND THE WORLD. By Mariposa Weir 25 

No. 30-GOLD-DUST DARRELL. By Burke Brentford 25 

No. 29— THE POKER KING. By Marline Manly 25 

No. 28— BOB YOUNGER’S FATE. By Edwin S. Deane 25 

No. 27— THE REVENUE DETECTIVE. By Police Captain James 25 

No. 26— UNDER HIS THUMB. By Donald J. McKenzie 25 

No. 25— THE NAVAL DETECTIVE’S CHASE. By Ned Buntline 25 

No. 24— THE PRAIRIE DETECTIVE. By Leander P. Richardson 25 

No. 23— A MYSTERIOUS CASE. By K. F. Hill 25 

No. 22— THE SOCIETY DETECTIVE. By Oscar Maitland 25 

No. 21— THE AMERICAN MARQUIS. By Nick Carter 25 

No. 20— THE MYSTERY OF A MADSTONE. By K. F. Hill 25 

No. 19— THE SWORDSMAN OF WARSAW. By Tony Pastor 25 

No. 18— A WALL STREET HAUL. By Nick Carter 25 

No. 17— THE OLD DETECTIVE’S PUPIL. By Nick Carter 25 

No. 16 — THE MOUNTAINEER DETECTIVE. By Clayton W. Cobb 25 

No. 15— TOM AND JERRY. By Tony Pastor 25 

No. 14— THE DETECTIVE’S CLEW. By “Old Hutch” 25 

No. 13— DARKE DARRELL. By Frank H. Stauffer 25 

No. 12— THE DOG DETECTIVE. By Lieutenant Murray 25 

No. 11— THE MALTESE CROSS. By Eugene T. Sawyer 25 

No. 10— THE POST-OFFICE DETECTIVE. By George W. Goode 25 

No. 9— OLD MORTALITY. By Young Baxter 25 

No. 8— LITTLE LIGHTNING. By Police Captain James 25 

No. 7— THE CHOSEN MAN. By Judson R. Taylor 25 

No. 6— OLD STONEWALL. By Judson R. Taylor 25 

No. 5— THE MASKED DETECTIVE. By Judson R. Taylor 25 

No. 4— THE TWIN DETECTIVES. By K. F. Hill 25 

No. 3-VAN, THE GOVERNMENT DETECTIVE. By “Old Sleuth” 25 

No. 2— BRUCE ANGELO, THE CITY DETECTIVE. By “Old Sleuth” 25 

No. 1— BRANT ADAMS, THE EMPEROR OF DETECTIVES. By “Old Sleuth” 25 

These popular books are large type editions, well printed, well bound, and 
in handsome covers. For sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers ; or sent, 
postage free, on receipt of price, 25 cents each, by the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

25 to 31 Hose Street, New York. 


P. O. Box 2734. 

















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